


Shoot Him Down

by swallowed_stars



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Also eventual Hunk/Lance because it's me, Bit of magical realism thrown in here cause why not, FYI there is a lot of smoking and drinking because of the setting, Female pronouns for Pidge, Gun Violence, Happy endings because I don't believe in anything else, Keith kinda mouthfucks a gun, Lots of blood depicted, M/M, PTSD episodes, Past Child Death, Past Suicidal Thoughts, The Keith/Lotor stuff is pretty one-sided for clarification, There will be a lot more characters in later chapters, engagements, gangster au, pining shiro, protective keith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-08-28 01:21:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8425207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swallowed_stars/pseuds/swallowed_stars
Summary: Takashi Shirogane, the leader of the Paladins, an upcoming gang in the city of Altea, is given the offer of a lifetime, but he's gotta play it smart. The Voltron Gangster AU that no one asked for.





	1. The Offer

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when I'm bored at work during Sheith week and I'm listening to too much electro swing. One thing I'd like to establish right away is that I'm aging up Pidge to be seventeen in this fic, because a fourteen year-old has no place in a violent gang. The rest of the info and backstory will be revealed in time; I had to hold back the exposition fairy from revealing too much at the beginning.

The air in the dingy motel room is heavy with the scent of sex, though to be fair, it had been in an almost equivalent state when they’d entered it. There’s a nauseating manila light illuminating the place through the holes drilled into the shade of a bedside lamp. Shiro balances his cigarette between his pointer and middle fingers in one hand (made of flesh) and ignites the tip with a lighter held in his other hand (made of metal). Red blooms on the un-sucked end of the cigarette as Shiro takes a long drag, his flesh arm wrapping protectively around Keith’s waist. In the meanwhile, Keith is curled against Shiro’s side, a perfect little half moon, his cheek pressed into Shiro’s bare thigh. The bed sheets are a tousled mess, braided sloppily between both men’s legs, besmirched with God knows how much of their sweat among other things. Keith’s arm shoots up toward Shiro’s mouth, signaling that he too would like a drag. Shiro rolls his eyes, takes the cigarette out of his mouth, and hands it carefully to Keith so as not to get cinders anywhere.

 

“Oh, don’t give me that disapproving look,” Keith mutters, sitting up straight and inhaling on the borrowed cigarette, “it’s all part of the aftercare.”

 

“I think you just might be the only one who demands aftercare from a kingpin.” Shiro laughs, mimicking Keith’s motion and sitting up only to lean casually against the headboard behind him.

 

“I don’t have to demand anything; I just take what’s given to me.” Keith corrects him, exhaling a small billow of smoke.

 

Shiro shrugs in defeat. He can’t quite argue with that; not when there’s that inescapable part of him that wants to give Keith everything he can.

 

“Time?” Shiro asks Keith.

 

“All this time together and you still think I’m the type of guy who wears a watch.” Keith bites back.

 

Shiro doesn’t dignify that with an answer, but gets out of bed without bothering to put anything back on. He isn’t sure they’re quite done yet.

 

Shiro opens the blinds on the paint-cracked and splintery window. The city is shrouded in gray moonlight, which makes sense considering they arranged to meet at dusk. Still, there isn’t telling how much time has lapsed already, and Shiro knows he’s likely being expected. He almost finishes his resolve to leave as two hands—lithe, cold—fan out across either of Shiro’s hipbones. Shiro melts into Keith’s touch despite how consistently freezing his hands are.

 

“Think your little lions are going berserk without you?” Keith says, standing on his toes to get closer to Shiro’s ear. Shiro, in turn, takes the cigarette that is hanging loosely from Keith’s sex-swollen lips and he taps it out against the windowsill.

 

Before Keith has time to complain, Shiro brings his mouth down onto Keith’s shoulder, clamping down ever so slightly and sucking at the skin there. Keith grunts and wiggles his shoulder a little due to the contact but he doesn’t make to pull away.

 

“God, you’re like a wolf.” Keith says, knotting his hand in Shiro’s hair and leaning into him. Shiro finally releases him, noting as his head brushes along Keith’s shoulder that Keith has a circular burn mark that wasn’t there a few nights prior, as though someone winked out the light from their cigarette by pinching it into Keith’s skin. Shiro doesn’t mention this, but nods in response to Keith’s words.  

 

“There’s some truth to that.” He says, giving Keith a rather lewd smirk, to which Keith crosses his arms over his chest.

 

“I always took you for the gentleman type. You know, at least as far as appearances. Can’t speak for that messy track record.” He says.

 

Shiro places his metallic thumb on Keith’s still rather red bottom lip and gently tugs it down with a swipe.

 

“A gentleman is just a wolf who’s learned to be patient.” He says huskily. Keith jerks away from him, a rather unimpressed expression on his face.

 

“Take you a long time to write that one?” He says monotonously. He attempts to turn from Shiro, who catches him mid-turn and tugs him back, the buttons of Keith’s spine lined against Shiro’s scarred chest. Shiro’s suddenly very aware of the fact that they’re both naked as he feels himself prodding against the curve of Keith’s ass.

 

“Conjured it up in the time I spent with my head between your legs, actually.” Shiro whispers into the crook of Keith’s neck. Loose strands of Keith’s black hair tickle the bridge of Shiro’s nose, and he hates how reliant he’s becoming on feeling that sensation.

 

“Sounds very inspired.” Keith says and inclines his head to look at Shiro behind him. He continues, “So are we gonna keep standing around or are we gonna do something about whatever’s poking me?”

 

Shiro needs to get back to the hideout, but that doesn’t prevent him from pivoting Keith around and wrapping him up in his arms. Keith winds his hands around Shiro’s neck and his toes hook together as he brings his legs around Shiro’s strong midsection. Shiro’s mouth covers Keith’s own, Keith making sure to nip at Shiro’s lips as they’re kissing this time because fair is fair.

 

Keith parts from Shiro with a slight gasp as he feels Shiro place him backward onto the bed once more. Shiro hovers over him for a moment, his hands on either side of Keith’s head, and his eyes hungrily roam all over Keith as if he’s seeing him firsthand. Keith finds himself doing the same to Shiro, ever entranced by the sheer amount of scars zigzagging across his toned chest. Shiro’s typical demeanor isn’t like that of most gang leaders—at least, not in Keith’s experience—but his scars serve as a powerful testament to the violence he’s both inflicted and survived. The realization lights a fire in Keith.

 

Shiro starts a stripe of kisses along the side of Keith’s neck suddenly and Keith is all but purring in his ear.

 

“Mm, you sure your lions won’t mind you being kept out this late?” Keith breathes out.

 

“Can’t we wait to start talking about other men until I’m done with you?” Shiro says, teasingly kissing the edge of Keith’s mouth.

 

Keith isn’t standing for that and catches Shiro by the chin and kisses him fully. He breaks free again before Shiro has the time to really enjoy himself, grasping at Shiro’s chin so he stays in place. Shiro always likes that; he likes being defied now and then.

 

“That’s your problem,” Keith says, “you’re never done with me.”

 

That stirs something in Shiro. He retracts so that he’s merely straddling Keith’s slender waist, creating distance while bearing into him with a hard look.

 

“You want me to be done with you?” Shiro says, and Keith takes a moment to chew on whether it’s an honest question or a challenge.

 

“I think you know the answer to that question.” Keith replies. This whole thing might seem unorthodox to a passerby: Keith splayed out and naked beneath a feared gang leader and attempting to have a cohesive discussion.

 

Shiro scoffs and the smile he offers is a blend of interest and maybe some bitterness.

 

“The night we met,” Shiro runs his hands down the bend of Keith’s sides, “after you finished your third gin fizz and about your twelfth glance at me, you decided to be brave and go head on: that was the first thing I liked about you.”

 

Shiro moves down Keith’s forefront at a tantalizingly slow speed, starting with a gentle bite to Keith’s nipple and going from there. Keith arches his back in response.

 

“In the same motion you made to kiss me, you reached for the dagger on your hip. That was the second thing I liked about you.” Shiro breathes into Keith’s skin. His metal hand is kneading into the crevice of Keith’s hipbone and his mouth licks a trail down Keith’s shaft. Keith grips the bed sheets as Shiro uses his other hand to take Keith into his mouth, nearly hollowing out his cheeks to make sure he really pleasures Keith.

 

“And the third?” Keith rasps. Shiro’s got him far too curious.

 

Shiro takes Keith’s cock out of his mouth momentarily to smirk up at him and the combo of Keith’s rapidly diffusing self-control and that stupid look on Shiro’s face makes Keith almost want to hit him.

 

“The third thing I liked about you? That you’re the kind of guy who uses daggers.”

 

\-----

 

Shiro always feels at home walking down the dampened streets of the Cask District, and not just because it’s where the best booze can be found in Altea. He’s had quite a few years in the city now, to the point where he can’t recall much of life before it, but the Cask is where he came into fruition. The Paladins, after all, are really just a collaborative effort of the harsh city and of Shiro’s reputation. Even now, as he’s headed back to the hideout, he’s comforted by the sight of the lines of old buildings, like rows of crooked teeth.

 

Shiro reaches the back door, taps twice in a rhythmic pattern with the pads of his fingers, and is met with the sight of a distraught Lance.

 

“Where were you?” Lance demands as Shiro closes the door behind him. Shiro gives a weak shrug in response.

 

“He back?” Hunk’s voice sounds from the adjacent room, though he doesn’t wait to find out for himself. Suddenly Hunk is at Shiro’s side and guiding him through the next room where a nervous-looking Pidge is fidgeting next to Matt.

 

“What’s the matter?” Shiro questions, eyes darting between all of them.

 

“There’s uh…” Hunk trails off.

 

“Someone’s here for you.” Matt finishes for Hunk.

 

“Yeah, and you’ve kept her waiting for over an  _hour_!” Lance yelps.

 

The use of “her” has Shiro incredibly confused.

 

“And you all couldn’t have taken care of it because?” Shiro asks.

 

“Well, we tried to, but she said this is something best worked out between the two of you.” Hunk explains, earning a groan from Shiro.

 

“Alright, just everyone calm down. Who is she? What’s she look like?”

 

“An angel.” sighs Lance dreamily.

 

“She’s pretty, well put together. AKA, not from these parts.” Matt says. This doesn’t cause Shiro’s confusion to ebb whatsoever. What does some uptown girl want from him?

 

“In that case, I shouldn’t delay her any further. I’ll head up there and we’ll work something out.” Shiro says coolly before ascending the spiral staircase to the level that holds all of their rooms—mostly importantly, their meeting room.

 

Shiro walks in with his sleeves rolled all the way down and his hands tucked firmly into his pockets. The metal hand tends to discomfort the high-class type. At the elongated table, a woman with long, silvery hair is sitting patiently. She’s strikingly beautiful, and she has quite the agenda if the tightness in her lips is anything to go by.

 

“I’ve got to congratulate you,” Shiro says as cordially as he can, though it isn’t without the slightest hint of a threat, “not many people know how to find their way through the Cask unless they live here.”

 

“Yes, well, I’m not many people.” The woman says back immediately, and Shiro is admittedly impressed. He pulls up a chair next to the woman and gives her his flesh hand. She shakes it without hesitation.

 

“Takashi Shirogane.” He says, and then: “I’m made to understand that you need something from me?”

 

“I’m here to make you an offer, Mr. Shirogane. Possibly the best offer anyone will ever make, in fact.” She says, and Shiro raises an eyebrow at her.

 

“That’s a heavy-handed statement, miss.” He says. He reaches for the flask inside his breast pocket and flashes it in her direction just to be polite.

 

“It’s a heavy-handed offer, Mr. Shirogane.” She says, and shakes her head in rejection of his offer.

 

Shiro doesn’t say anything to this, but waits for her to go on as he unscrews the cap to the flask and inhales the scent of the bourbon inside.

 

“What would you say if I were to offer you two things I know you’re itching for more than anything else?” She says resting her chin in her hand coyly.

 

“I’d first ask you how you know what the two things I’m most itching for are.” Shiro replies, tilts the flask back, and lets the alcohol pour down his throat.

 

“How about this then: I am making you an offer that will allow you to become very rich and will also allow you to hit the Galra where they live.”

 

Shiro has tried to master the art of becoming unreadable, but he can’t prevent his eyes from widening at the sound of the prospect. He swishes around the bourbon in his flask and takes another sip, though not before looking the woman clear in the eye and saying:

 

“I’m listening.”


	2. Cripples, Orphans, and Broken Things

“Is the story true, Mr. Shirogane?”

 

“Shiro. Also, you’re gonna have to be more specific. There are quite a few stories about me.”

 

“You know him, Shiro. Zarkon, that is.”

 

There isn’t enough bourbon in the entire Cask that will make that name tolerable for Shiro to hear, but he tries to saturate himself with what’s left in his flask regardless.

 

“Oh yes, we go way back.” Shiro replies, rolling his eyes.

 

“Tell me, have you seen him lately?” Shiro would almost think she’s mocking him if it weren’t for the complete innocence in her tone.

 

Far too many unpleasant thoughts are echoing in Shiro’s head, a lilt of bloodstained hands and a smile on the face of a dead boy he’s long since failed. He notices far too late that he’s made a tight fist with his metal hand.

 

“No, I think that he considered chopping off my arm to be a form of closure for our relationship.” Shiro says, meeting the gaze of the woman across from him. She tries to keep her expression steely and composed, but pity flickers in her blue eyes. Shiro can sympathize with that; you can only be what you are.

 

“He looks the same.” She says after an uncomfortable pause. It’s a strange statement, as if she’s referring fondly to an old friend of his.

 

“Look, I’m not really sure what stories you’re hearing nowadays, but Zarkon and I aren’t exactly pals. I don’t give a damn how he looks.” Shiro spits.

 

She shakes her head and says poignantly, “You aren’t listening to what I’m saying. I’m telling you that he looks the same, as in he hasn’t changed.”

 

Shiro feels the anger rising in his throat like bile.

 

“I’m not following, Miss.” He manages through gritted teeth.

 

“Didn’t you notice it during those years you worked for him? How he never physically changed? How he seemed to be significantly old by the time you came to him when you were, what, a teenager, and he never seemed to grow older?” She flicks a tawny hand at him for emphasis.

 

Shiro raises his brow in confusion but he mulls over her question anyway. He tries to picture Zarkon’s face, all jagged edges and rough lines from several unkind years. Now that she mentions it, Shiro can’t remember Zarkon looking much different the last time he saw him from the day that they met. In fact, he never did seem to look older at all; nothing but the same leathery, foreboding countenance.

 

“What exactly are you getting at?” Shiro asks, interest thoroughly piqued at this point.

 

“There is a reason that he hasn’t aged, Shiro.” She says plain as day, and the silence Shiro offers her implores that she go on.

 

“The police have been conducting an investigation and-“

 

“-So Daddy doesn’t know you’re here, then.” Shiro interrupts.

 

“I’m not quite sure how to answer that.” She says with the smallest crack in her voice. She shifts in her chair.

 

Shiro hooks a thumb under his grey shirt cuff and starts rolling a sleeve up to his elbow. He then repeats the process with his other arm.

 

“You don’t need to answer because it wasn’t a question. Daddy doesn’t know you’re here. You think I wouldn’t recognize the Commissioner’s daughter?” Shiro looks at her with a knowing smirk and her face grows pink and indignant.

 

“If you knew, why did you wait so long to confront me about it?” She folds her arms over her chest and a curtain of silvery hair falls over her shoulder with the motion.

 

“You obviously gave me the benefit of the doubt by showing up here. Figured I could do the same.” Shiro says with a shrug.

 

She purses her lips, unsure how to go forward. Shiro watches the discomfort wash over her and he accepts full responsibility. He decides to cut in again.

 

“Look, I’m sorry, Miss…?”

 

“Allura.” She responds.

 

“Allura,” Shiro reiterates with a nod, “as you were saying.”

 

Allura clears her throat.

 

“My father is the leader of the investigation, as I’m sure you already assumed. They aren’t certain of the details, but I know for a fact that Zarkon is using a serum to prolong his life.” She explains.

 

“What?” Shiro blurts out, dumbfounded.

 

“That’s why he never ages. Why his gang has been terrorizing this city for decades without fail. He is making himself immortal, in a manner of speaking. And I know how.”

 

Shiro doesn’t make to reply, not that he could with how dry his throat has become. For a brief moment, the room seems to dissolve away, leaving nothing but the two of them and the shivering fluorescent light. The blood is rushing to his face and it unfortunately has nothing to do with his alcohol intake.

 

Allura notices the change overcoming the man in front of her, but she pretends not to. Shiro wants to thank her for that. She goes on unprompted.

 

“The serum is concocted from something that’s extracted from the dead.”

 

Shiro runs his metal hand through his white forelock of hair. It feels proper; a converging of things that have devolved and been remade thanks to Zarkon’s doing. He looks at Allura and the affirmative look she gives back proves that she believes what she’s saying.

 

“You’ve seen it.” He says confidently.

 

Allura nods and says, “I’ve seen it.”

 

“Where?”

 

“Outside a large warehouse in this district. I followed Father there one night. He didn’t exactly know I was there.” She says and Shiro punctuates this with a shaky laugh.

 

“I’m not exactly sure _what_ I saw happen, but I know this: whoever does the killing for the Galra has been working overtime. There was a woman, very spindly and hunched-

 

“-Haggar.” Shiro says under his breath.

 

“-And she was standing over a sizeable amount of bodies. Whatever she did, I saw her produce these phials of glowing purple liquid. That, I’m assuming, is the serum if not an ingredient of it.”

 

Shiro gingerly rubs his temples. It’s a hell of a lot to absorb. He wishes he could go back to a few hours ago, when all he had to take in was the feeling of Keith’s nails dragging down his back.

 

“So, you managed to sneak around a Galra hideout without them noticing, saw Haggar create some kinda dead person potion, came up with this bizarre theory about immortality, and then decided to come to me? Forgive me, but I’m not seeing where my Paladins and I fit in.” He says.

 

Allura’s resolve falters a bit. To any normal person, it would seem that she’s lost her mind, but she reminds herself that the man in front of her has known Zarkon personally. These ideas can’t possibly be that farfetched.

 

“You’re going to help me steal the serum from Zarkon.” She says point blank, which earns her a quizzical look from Shiro.

 

“ _Help_ you steal it? You’re lucky you got away unnoticed and unharmed the first time. There’s no way I’m letting the Commissioner’s daughter anywhere near the Galra again.”

 

“Then I suppose it’s fortunate that I have not and will not ask for your permission. I came to you because I know that the police aren’t going to solve this without me revealing what I’ve seen and possibly jeopardizing my father’s job. Besides, you lot have a sort of…panache.” She says, weaving her hands together on the table in front of her. She thinks she’s got him, Shiro surmises, and she almost does save for a few more details.

 

“Let’s not forget my pathetic devotion to this city.” Shiro adds with a chuckle.

 

“I admit you aren’t what I expected…” She trails off.

 

“No, we never are. The Paladins have made a name for themselves on these streets, between the marksman who never misses, the wraith who can slip through almost any door, the fast-talking pickpocket, the backup with the strength of an Olympian, and their villainous leader who shares his biology with a machine. Imagine their surprise when they see us and discover that we’re nothing but a bunch of cripples, orphans, and broken things.” Shiro utters with a twisted feeling of pride. In the meanwhile, he’s fished a cigarette from his breast pocket, let it hang from his mouth at a perfect ninety-degree angle, and chewed on the end.

 

Allura appears like she’s searching for some way to answer that, but it doesn’t come. After waiting for the repulsion at his apparent smoking and seeing that there is none, Shiro lights his cigarette and inhales. He makes sure to turn his head and exhale in the direction opposite Allura.

 

“You really believe this stuff? Like, you actually think Zarkon is extending his life somehow?” Shiro asks her, raising his brow, testing her.

 

“You know the answer to that question already, so, Shiro, I would prefer an answer to mine. Will you help me or not?” Allura shoots back.

 

“Not just yet,” Shiro says in the time between his next drag and release, “I haven’t asked the most important question of all.”

 

“That would be?”

 

“How much?”

 

\-----

 

They are all sitting in the main room together, spread out across the various loveseats and cushions. Matt’s busying himself by exploring the contents of the most recent wallet he’s stolen, Pidge is perched by the staircase to see if she can hear anything, and Hunk is sitting on the couch with Lance’s head resting in his lap.

 

“So, you aren’t mad about what I said about the woman upstairs, right?” Lance addresses Hunk, whom he is looking up at with curiosity and some guilt. Hunk, however, is too preoccupied with Lance’s handgun. He slaps at the thing with his vast, gloved hands.

 

“Lance, if I got upset over everyone you flirted with, I’d be a pretty impatient guy.” Hunk says, not taking is eyes off of the firearm.

 

“I am, however, becoming increasingly annoyed at how often you’re jamming your guns.” He huffs, flipping the gun upside down.

 

Lance shrugs helplessly. He murmurs, “I did what you said. I added more lubrication.”

 

“Lance, I told you that more lubrication would make it _worse_!” Hunk groans.

 

Pidge is about to utter something sarcastic when Shiro descends the stairs, the beautiful woman from before following behind.

 

“Boys, we’ve got ourselves a job.” Shiro announces and a reverent hush falls over his gang.

 

“Good,” Matt says, discarding the now empty wallet, “I’m bored.”

 

“You won’t have time to be now; we’re gonna steal from the Galra.” Shiro says, looking from one of the to the next.

 

Lance jolts up from Hunk’s lap and shouts: “What? There’s nothing in the whole world that would make that doable or worth it!”

 

Shiro smirks at him and a dangerous glimmer is alight in his slate-colored eyes.

 

“How about millions?” He says with glowering finesse.

 

\-----

 

Keith stands with a casual lean and his foot propped up against the wall behind him. He isn’t sure why he feels the need to maintain the air of casualty at this point, but he isn’t exactly _comfortable_ either. Blood is sloppily coating either of his hands like he’s just finished finger painting.

 

The airlock on the door is released and in steps a man Keith’s age with long, platinum blonde hair and the most uncomfortable smile Keith has seen on anyone to date. Nothing about his smile feels appropriate, like there is always an undertone of mischief or disdain, which Keith knows to be true.

 

The man closes the distance between the two of them, choosing to kiss underneath Keith’s chin instead of the correct spot.

 

“Lotor.” Keith greets and it’s as fickle as the other man’s smile. Lotor runs a hand down Keith’s cheek.

 

“Where are they?” Lotor asks.

 

“Down on 35th, just like you asked. Good luck getting rid of them, it got pretty nasty.” Keith says, wriggling his blood soaked hands in front of Lotor’s face.

 

“You’re so compliant.” Lotor says, though it feels more like he’s talking to a dog than bestowing actual praise.

 

“I’m compliant for anyone for the right price.” Keith says flatly. Lotor curls his hand through the back of Keith’s dark hair and pulls him forward into a proper kiss.

 

“Good news for you,” Lotor mutters against Keith’s lips once he’s pulled away, “there’s a new proposition on the table.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was not intending for this update to be so late and I hope that they aren't as delayed in the future but holy me oh my have I had one hell of a week. Sorry about the lack of Sheith in this one; it's mostly discussions and all that. However, I will try my hardest to get the next part out much faster than this one! Thank you so much for your support and your fantastic words! I love you all.


	3. You Got it Bad

Lotor graciously leads Keith to Zarkon only after Keith promises that he’ll find him after. He’s not about to face the most dangerous kingpin in the city with disheveled hair and the smell of sex about him. Lotor gives Keith that revolting smile, wishes him luck, and crudely gives Keith’s ass a slap as he retreats.

 

Zarkon is sitting with one leg crossed over the other at a table that is made for at least a dozen. He is huge, looming, and every bit as ugly as what he administers to people. Despite the fact that he and Keith are the only two in the room, there is a lingering claustrophobia, like Zarkon’s presence fills every inch of the place. He looks like a typical gangster with his charcoal pinstriped suit and his demure poise, but it serves as an almost cynical ruse for the monster he truly is. Keith knows for certain that if he weren’t in this room for a purpose, Zarkon would reach across the table, snap Keith’s neck, and not think twice about it.

 

“Keith, sit.” Zarkon says with a pseudo-cordial air.

 

Keith shakes his head and says, “I prefer to stand if it’s all the same.”

 

Zarkon gives him a look that says suit yourself and then gets to the point.

 

“Tell me, why didn’t you kill Takashi Shirogane?” Zarkon says and Keith knows he’s searching him for telltale signs of discomfort that he simply isn’t going to find. Keith is too smart for that.

 

“Why didn’t _you_?” Keith retorts coolly.

 

Zarkon smirks, but it’s malicious and not at all due to his appreciation for sarcasm. He shifts in his chair, a forward roll of his large shoulders to enforce that he still has all the power here.

 

“I simply ask because I want to be sure that I can trust you with this job.” Zarkon says.

 

“You might find it’s shockingly tough to kill someone who’s equipped with a superhuman bionic arm, my thanks to you for that. Regardless, I’ve killed countless people for you without any problems.” Keith says sourly.

 

“This task has more caliber than anything else I’ve asked of you and I want to see to it that it gets done.” Zarkon says, peering at Keith gravely. Keith waits for him to continue.

 

“Recently, we had an uninvited guest poking around where she shouldn’t have. Haggar informed me that she got away, but that will no longer be a problem with your help.”

 

“What exactly did this woman find out?” Keith asks.

 

The corners of Zarkon’s mouth twist into a mean grimace. He snaps at Keith, “I don’t pay you to ask questions.”

 

Keith gives a roll of his eyes and doesn’t say any more.

 

“You’re going to kill the daughter of Commissioner Alfor.” Zarkon states once he has sufficiently calmed himself.

 

Keith’s mouth slacks a bit and he slowly reiterates, “I’m going to kill the Commissioner’s daughter?”

 

“She has to be gotten rid of.” Zarkon says.

 

“How do you suggest I go about doing that? You’re outta your goddamn mind if you think I’m breaking into the house of the head of the police.” Keith says.

 

“No need to worry about that; I’ll get her to you. All you need to do is make sure you go where I tell you. Can you do it?” Zarkon says.

 

“This had better be double what I normally get.”

 

“Triple,” Zarkon asserts, “if you pull it off properly. So, I’ll ask one more time: can you do it?”

 

“I-yes, okay. I’ll do it.” Keith agrees despite an unwelcome sinking feeling pooling in his gut.

 

“Excellent.”

 

“However, it’s gotta be different this time. No traces, no mess. I want a gun.” Keith insists.  

 

\-----

 

When Shiro sleeps, he dreams of Ryou, without fail. He relives the moment that he found his younger brother, pallid and unmoving in his bed. He feels the way the younger boy’s limp body slouches and the way his head lolls helplessly as Shiro tries to rouse him. The sensation to scream bubbles in his throat, but it never comes to fruition; all he can experience is the surge of panic interspersed with hysteria until his body wills itself awake. This is why Shiro prefers to not sleep.

 

When Shiro is half-asleep, not a member of the waking world but sentient enough to control his thoughts, he thinks of Keith. In particular, he thinks of the night he met Keith.

 

_The man saunters over to Shiro after several glances, and it’s perplexing because the lack of control would seem to suggest to Shiro that he hasn’t been doing this for very long and yet the man knows enough to wear red so that Shiro’s blood won’t be as noticeable when the deed is done. If those pretty purple eyes weren’t enough to draw Shiro in, he is now considerably moved by this discovery._

_For good measure, Shiro twists the end of his cigar headfirst into the ashtray and extinguishes it. It does nothing to add nor take away from the cheerless haze of various other smoking substances diffused about the room from the bars’ patrons, but it feels polite to greet his company without blowing rings of smoke in his face. For half a heartbeat, Shiro worries that he won’t be able to hear the man over the scratchy harmonization of the jazz songstress, but that fear is snuffed out by the realization that the man has no intentions to talk whatsoever. Rather, he traces the lining of Shiro’s jaw with one hand, inches his face teasingly closer to Shiro’s, and slyly moves the other hand towards his own hip. Shiro catches the man’s hand before he can manage to grab whatever is there. The man’s wrist, in response, twitches from the sudden impact and the shocking chill of Shiro’s metallic hand._

_The man has a dagger, Shiro surmises by the sheath resting on his hip. It’s a haughty and stylistic choice and Shiro is highly entertained by it. For a moment, Shiro thinks that it would be an utmost pleasure to be killed by him. He tugs the man by his captive wrist and he is now pulled flush against Shiro’s chest._

_Shiro scrutinizes the other man and the sheer beauty of him has Shiro feeling almost weightless. The man is thin with black hair settling at the base of his neck, remarkably divergent from the typical male hairstyle. Those pretty purple eyes shudder with pure contempt but Shiro makes sure to not grip him so hard as to threaten. He instead leans down and brushes a strand of hair away from the man’s ear as he whispers:_

_“I’d say that from here, you have two choices: you can leave with me or you can leave alone.”_

_The man pulls back a little, but he makes no effort to take back his hand._

_“You’re letting me go?” He asks, brow raised with skepticism._

_Shiro nods and smiles to himself. He says, “I wouldn’t get any pleasure from hurting you.”_

_The man knows how to give it back in spades, because he offers Shiro a devilish grin and says: “You gotta promise not to fall head over heels in love with me. Can you do that?”_

_Shiro can’t help but laugh at that and he mutters an “I promise” before whisking the man out of there and into the nearest motel they can find._

_They’re unfastening each other’s ties and raking their hands through one another’s hair before the door is even closed and they move ungracefully towards the bed. The man’s red shirt—noticeably unsplattered with Shiro’s blood as planned—has already been discarded and Shiro heats up at the sight of the man’s lean torso. The man is lying down already, his for the taking, and he guides Shiro closer to the bed by grabbing Shiro’s metal hand. He sits on the bed’s edge and spreads his legs open to accommodate the still-standing Shiro._

_The man’s hands then scramble towards the buttons on Shiro’s shirt, but Shiro dodges them and hungrily kisses him instead. Shiro hasn’t had anyone since he developed his multitude of scars and frankly, he isn’t ready for anyone to see them yet, especially not someone so ivory and beautiful as the man before him._

_The man is persistent, though. He tries to reach for Shiro’s chest again and again Shiro recoils._

_“My way, baby. We gotta do this my way.” Shiro huffs against the man’s lips as he unbuckles his pants and slides them down just far enough to expose himself and not an inch more._

_The man is visibly confused but hardens at the sight of Shiro’s own erection. Shiro fucks him near fully clothed into the creaky motel mattress and between the guttural mewls the man is emitting, Shiro learns that his name is Keith. It’s fitting for him, and Shiro’s mind is too clouded by how perfectly slick Keith feels around him to reason why. Instead, Shiro rides out the force of his orgasm by grunting his name._

_When it’s all said and done, Shiro’s clothes are clinging to his body from the sweat and he lies down next to Keith on the mattress, turning on his side to get a better look at him. Keith is panting heavily but otherwise unmoving until Shiro leans over and presses a kiss into his hair. Keith doesn’t quite stiffen at the touch but he momentarily freezes like he wasn’t aware that Shiro was capable of such intimacy. It passes quickly enough, and Keith crawls on top of him, creating an abnormal friction between their respective clothed and unclothed bodies._

_Something about the way Keith stares down at him makes Shiro sit up and bite softly at his neck, sucking on his skin as he does so. This man was hired by someone to kill him, yet here Shiro is marking his skin to prove he’s been there. It isn’t for gloating, it isn’t to prove that he made it out alive and wound up in Keith’s embrace; it’s driven by some carnal desire to have Keth be his. It’s unreasonable and it’s foolish and he knows that at any moment, Keith could probably still kill him when his guard is down, but he’s already picturing having him again._

Shiro sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. He doesn’t even need to read the clock to know that it’s somewhere around 4 am. He tosses the sheets off of him, dangles his legs over the side of the bed and begrudgingly gets up. It’s better than lying there for the small sliver of nighttime there is left. He tugs on an old undershirt and heads downstairs, where he is surprised to see Lance sitting on the couch, attentively placing rounds into his pistol.

 

“What are you doing up?” Shiro asks, and Lance fidgets at the sudden voice.

 

“I don’t really need to sleep all that much, and I don’t want to keep Hunk up, so here we are.” Lance replies as Shiro takes a seat next to him.

 

Things are comfortably quiet, but Shiro feels the need to make sure that Lance is actually alright.

 

“How’s your mom been lately?” Shiro says, stifling a yawn.

 

Lance shrugs and answers, “She’s okay from what I hear. I haven’t gone to see them in awhile, but they should still be good on medicine for her. This job came at a good time for me. Hopefully I can use my cut to get her more treatments.”

 

“Yeah, funny how medication for blood diseases skyrocket in price once more people are diagnosed with it.” Shiro scoffs.

 

Lance’s mouth becomes a tight line and he aggressively loads the last cartridge before setting the gun down. Shiro feels guilty for even bringing it up, but Lance easily falls into the habit of not mentioning his mother’s illness to anyone, and Shiro knows all too well how grating it can be to shoulder all of that.

 

“She’ll be alright.” Shiro says and gives Lance an assuring clap on the back. Lance smiles at him in response, though it doesn’t reach his eyes.

 

Shiro’s body shudders with another yawn. Most days, Shiro can handle his inability to sleep, but he just can’t seem to shake the exhaustion from his bones. He thinks that maybe it would have been the better decision to stay in bed and keep replaying his memories of Keith, but that also has him worried.

 

“Can I ask you something?” Shiro says and inclines his head toward Lance, who has begun inhaling on a lit cigarette in the time that’s passed.

 

Shiro doesn’t like seeing Lance smoke, it gives him a sort of paternal uneasiness despite the fact that Lance is only his junior by a couple of years. Whenever he sees Lance smoke, he has an overbearing urge to slap it out of his hands. However, Shiro refrains from doing so.

 

“What’s going on?” Lance says.

 

“How did you know you were in love with Hunk?” Shiro says candidly, though he realizes after he’s said it that he really isn’t prepared for Lance to ask him about what prompted this.

 

Lance takes the cigarette from his lips and breathes out a small plume of smoke.

 

“Can’t tell ya, Boss.” He says, looking up at the ceiling as if in thought.

 

This stings Shiro more than he’s willing to admit. He forcibly takes the cigarette from Lance’s lips so that he has his attention.

 

“Since when is there something you can’t tell me?” Shiro asks sincerely. His relationship with his Paladins is important to him; it’s really all he’s got.

 

Lance shakes his head dismissively and smiles at Shiro.

 

“No, I don’t mean it that way, it’s just…Hunk and I have been together for _so_ long that it kind of feels like a fact now. It feels like I’ve loved him for as long as I’ve been alive, so I really can’t pinpoint the exact moment it was.” Lance explains and his expression is nothing but dreamy.

 

“If there’s one thing I do remember, it’s that it was gradual. None of that all at once bullshit they try and peddle at the movies. It kind of grows on you until eventually you understand that you can’t be without them even if you try.” Lance adds.

 

The unattended cigarette is burning low in Shiro’s hand and so Lance takes it back before giving Shiro a suggestive look and saying, “Why, who is it you’re falling for, huh?”

 

Shiro heaves a great sigh in response. He is falling for Keith and he knows it. It was never simple or casual from the start, but the reliance he has on their weekly trysts, the fact that his mind is always reeling with the sensation of having him for the first time and every time since, the fact that he trusts Keith not to kill him but likely wouldn’t stop him if he tried…Shiro’s not an expert, but any idiot could probably tell him what all that adds up to.

 

“You don’t know him.” Shiro finally says, to which Lance nods.

 

“How often do you think about him?” Lance inquires, taking his last drag before the cigarette all but fizzles out.

 

Shiro drags his metal hand down his face and says, “Once.”

 

“Once? That’s not so often.”

 

“No, I mean he entered my head once and he’s been there ever since. He’s almost all I think about.” Shiro admits.

 

Lance chuckles and says, “Yeah, you got it bad, man.”

 

“Is there any coming back from it?” Shiro says, looking at Lance.

 

“Not a chance.” Lance says.

 

Shiro nods solemnly and Lance stretches out on the couch, lazily propping his feet up on Shiro’s thighs because he knows Shiro will let him get away with it.

 

“Good news is, you have plenty of time to get more wonderful romantic advice from yours truly before everyone else wakes up.” Lance proclaims proudly, folding his arms beneath his head as he lies down.

 

“Yeah, romantic advice is always a good precursor to making plans for sabotaging your mortal enemy.” Shiro says sarcastically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooh boy, I got a little racy for a minute there, but you deserve it for putting up with the lack of Sheith in the previous chapter. Also yay, the Hance has arrived! I know I threw a lot at you here and the background stuff will continue to be addressed gradually but as always thank you for reading and for your support!


	4. Broken Promise

Allura arrives thirty minutes prior to their morning gathering, as Shiro expected. He’s somewhat taken aback when she quietly sits beside Hunk instead to trying to take the reigns, but Shiro is more than happy to take his place at the head of the table and begin.

 

“Tell me,” Shiro speaks up, all eyes drifting to him, “what’s the best way to rob a man?”

 

They all chime in at once, excepting Allura.

 

“Gun to his head.”

 

“Draw his eye, create a distraction, and take it.”

 

“Intimidate him before it has to get messy.”

 

“Wait for crowd coverage and slip past him before he even notices.”

 

Shiro chuckles and says, “Look at what I’ve done to you guys.”

 

They wait for Shiro to continue, though not without the exchange of a few smug smirks among themselves.

 

“You got pretty close. You do have to hit him head on and you do have to keep your discretion, but you forgot the simplest detail: all or nothing. You take everything he’s got or you try again next time. For us, there won’t be a next time, so we gotta plan this out thoroughly.” Shiro says.

 

“Alright,” Allura says, sitting forward and folding her hands, “where do we begin?”

 

“You remember where this warehouse was, Miss Allura?” Shiro says, his gray eyes flickering over to her.

 

Allura gives a verifying nod and says, “Yes, absolutely.”

 

“How do we know for sure that he’s keeping this everlasting life juice there?” Lance asks.

 

“We don’t, but there’s never any harm in getting the upper hand against the Galra. If we don’t find the serum, I’m sure we’ll find something that can tell us where it is.” Shiro says.

 

Hunk sighs and wipes his hands down the length of his face. He says, “Two days ago, we were twiddling our thumbs and now we’re gonna trail the Galra right to their front door.”

 

Lance, who is sitting on Hunk’s other side, looks at him with concern and moves his hand underneath the table to rest on Hunk’s knee.

 

Shiro’s demeanor softens and he says, “Hunk, I’m not going to force you to do this if you don’t want to. I know it’s dangerous.”

 

“It’s not like organized crime guarantees constant safety, Shiro, I know that. What I’m saying is that this heist has to be almost foolproof, otherwise we could die.” Hunk says and shock overtakes Lance as though he hadn’t considered the possibility before. The Holt siblings and Allura remain stoic.

 

“Exactly. Did you happen to find a map of the Cask like I asked?” Shiro asks, and Hunk withdraws a folded up piece of parchment from his vest.

 

“Who needs to waste time with finding? I drew one.” Hunk declares, unfurling the map and spreading it out in front of him so Allura and the other Paladins can examine it.

 

Shiro gets to his feet and stands behind Hunk, clapping him proudly on the shoulder when he sees that it looks like an authentic blueprint of the district.

 

“This is remarkable. It must have taken you hours to go around and notate all of this!” Allura says, marveling the drawing.

 

“He didn’t need to. Hunk has a photographic memory. He can look at something once and he’s pretty much got it.” Pidge says. She’s leaning so far to get a glimpse that her ankles are practically dangling over the side of the table. Her red hair, once crudely chopped to match her brother’s, hangs at her chin.

 

Hunk’s cheeks turn a pink tint due to the praise and Lance gives his knee an affectionate squeeze.

 

“Could you show us where we’re headed to, Miss Allura?” Shiro beseeches, looking from the map to Allura.

 

Allura chews her lip thoughtfully, poring over the map, before she points to a spot abutting the waterfront.

 

“Here,” she announces, “where Grand dead ends near the riverside.”

 

Shiro glares at the position Allura points to as if it’s offended him. He recollects the sound of crunching bone along with the mechanical whirring of his arm, but he can’t focus on that right now. He exhales and wills it away.

 

“First thing we’re gonna do is trip the power.” Shiro says.

 

“Okay, but how? It’s not like we know where the circuit breakers are in that thing.” Matt says, raising his brow over the rim of his circular glasses.

 

“I can disrupt the signal with my EMP device.” Pidge jumps in.

 

“Where did you get an EMP?” Lance questions.

 

“I…found it.” Pidge offers weakly and her brother gives her a thumbs up. Shiro just laughs; he’s never made much effort to hide his fondness for the youngest Paladin.

 

“Okay, so we’ve got the power tripped. Now what?” Hunk asks, bringing them back to the matter at hand.

 

“Pidge slips in there and trips the power. Then she lets in Matt, Allura, and me.” Shiro informs them, and continues on:

 

“Hunk, you’re posted outside. You’ll have to take out a few people, which I know you don’t like to do-“

 

“-Doesn’t mean I won’t.” Hunk interjects calmly.

 

“Good. You’ll be the lookout unless we need you. Lance is gonna be our aerial, he’ll watch your back.”

 

“I’m always watching his back.” Lance says suggestively, grinning at Hunk. Hunk smiles sweetly at him, though the moment is soured by the false gagging noise Matt emits in the background.

 

“I think it’s best we split up once we’re inside. We likely won’t have much time before they get the power back on and start looking for the perpetrators. Besides, the place is quite large; we’ll have to scour it to find where the serum is being kept.” Allura proposes.

 

“Agreed,” Shiro says with a nod, “the Holts will go together and you’re with me, Allura.”

 

“And from there?” Matt prompts.

 

“From there, we take it. All or nothing.” Shiro says plainly.

 

Pidge shrugs and says, “Seems easy enough.”

 

Shiro has to fend off the thought in his head that follows, warning him that it seems easy because it’ll go awry. He can’t fail them. He can’t fail Allura. This could change their whole lives.

 

 _“Ryou, this could change our whole lives.”_ Shiro’s own voice echoes in his head, _“besides, it’s only for a little while.”_

Shiro lets out a shuddery breath and he realizes he’s backed himself against the wall. He can’t even process the sympathetic stares he’s receiving from everyone before he tries to stagger out.

 

“Two nights from now,” Shiro mutters, keeping his back to them, “be ready for it.”

 

He leaves without saying anymore and he attempts to steady his breathing as he does so. No one gets up to pursue him.

 

\-----

 

Shiro’s metal arm illuminates with a soft purple hue, as it does every now and then. He has never understood why, but the puzzlement surrounding it along with the emotional remnants of his past leave him aching for a smoke like no one’s business. He’s sitting on the damp ground, his back pressed against the brick foundation of the building behind him, his eyes tightly shut. This is the manner in which Allura finds him.

 

“Before I go, are you alright?” She says, very nurturing. Shiro smiles at how unlike her it sounds.

 

He cracks his eyes open and nods at her, saying, “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry to leave you in the lion’s den, so to speak.”

 

“I came here of my own accord, Mr. Shirogane.” She reminds him and sits beside him on the bone-chilling concrete. Shiro notices that his arm is no longer acting up, thankfully.

 

“Speaking of, before we do this, you wanna tell me where all this money’s coming from?” He turns his head toward her and watches her blush.

 

“What?”

 

“I don’t know much about being the child of the Commissioner, but I don’t think you have spare millions just lyin’ around. Where’s it actually coming from?”

 

Allura visibly tenses, but she replies with no further hesitation, “The city Councilman and I struck a deal. I bring down the Galra with the help of his enemy and effectively eradicate a large percentage of the organized crime in this city and he gives me the money to do so. I am the best for this, of course, because I can access Father’s reports and because no one will suspect the subservient daughter of Commissioner Alfor. My father’s job is secured, the city is made safer, and perhaps you can finally get some rest, Mr. Shirogane.”

 

Shiro wants to laugh at that, but he’s not sure whether that’s cruel or pathetic of him.

 

“Councilman, huh?” He asks.

 

“You don’t believe me?”

 

“’Course I do. People in power love doing underhanded shit that makes them look good.” Shiro shifts against the wall and gives her a serious look as he says, “how do I know you won’t be after us next?”

 

Allura snickers and says, “One project at a time, Mr. Shirogane.”

 

“Right.” Shiro says, and the two of them stay quiet, tendrils of wind whipping their faces.

 

“They’re young,” Allura suddenly says, “the twins.”

 

Shiro shakes his head and says, “Not twins. Matt’s actually older than her by a few years, but they do look alike. That was part of their shtick for awhile.”

 

Allura edges a little closer to him, physically prompting him to continue.

 

“They made sure to look the same so that they were more difficult to catch. They lived as pickpockets after their parents died. One day I caught Pidge in the act while she tried to steal from me and Matt came running, begging me to let her go. I have a soft spot for siblings who have nothing, so I promised I wouldn’t turn them in if they came to stay with me. Seems morally wrong to drag people into a life of crime, but it’s better odds than these streets, I can tell ya that much.”

 

“And the other two?”

 

“Is this an interrogation, Miss Allura?”

 

“I’d like to think of it as a friendly exchange, Mr. Shirogane.”

 

Shiro says, “Also a package deal. They were with me before the Holts. Lance attended one of my fights—post-Zarkon, that is. I kept to fighting for awhile even after Zarkon booted me. Anyway, Lance said he wanted to join me. Told me he had a family and a sick mother to take care of; she’s dying of the same disease that killed my brother, so I wasn’t exactly in a position to say no. And that’s the official origin story of the Paladins. I don’t know about Hunk much, but he came along with Lance, so I assume he had no one else.”

 

“Lance wanted to join you? Just like that?” She sounds more intrigued than skeptical, but Shiro’s just happy she didn’t hone in on his talk about Ryou. He’s not ready for that talk.

 

“Helps when you never lose.” Shiro says, and he swears he can feel some of his scars prickle at the memory.

 

“Speaking of, I have this for you.” He adds, produces a small ring from his pocket, and hands it off to Allura, whose bluebell eyes widen at the offering.

 

“What’s this for?” She asks. Upon inspection, she sees that the ring is in the shape of a lion’s head.

 

“Fashion statement, really. We wear ‘em for all the important jobs.” Shiro says. His own ring is nestled idly in his vest pocket.

 

Allura hums fondly and slips the ring on.

 

“I’m gonna have to ask for it back if you turn us into the Councilman.” Shiro quips.

 

“Could be that I forget where your hideout is entirely, depending on how this all works out.” Allura says with a wink.

 

\-----

 

Shiro’s moved past chiding himself about being with Keith, because he knows that neither of them are going to stop this. Whatever it is that makes up a person, whether a soul or a summation of events, Shiro feels that he and Keith are the same somehow, scarcely held together by droplets of strangers’ blood and the raw feeling of being pleasured by somebody you know shouldn’t be yours. Keith _isn’t_ his, in fact, but he wants him to be. _God,_ how he wants him. Even now, Shiro is tracing the small constellation of cigarette burns that have blossomed on Keith’s shoulder courtesy of his other lover (lovers, maybe), and Shiro sickly wants to ask if Keith is going to head off to them when they’re done here. Instead he lies there, Keith held against him, continually stroking Keith’s small scars.

 

“Was I bad?” Keith says, effectively breaking up the stillness.

 

“What?” Shiro says, bewildered.

 

Keith turns on his opposite side so that he’s facing Shiro. He says jokingly, “You’re quiet. Did I underwhelm you or something?”

 

“You never underwhelm me.” Shiro murmurs and it comes out much more tender than he intended it to.

 

Keith’s purple eyes trail all over Shiro before he leans in, kissing along Shiro’s jawline. Shiro tilts his head to accommodate, leaning into Keith’s touch, as if there were any other way.

 

Shiro cards his metal hand through Keith’s black hair, which is now so long that it’s well past the nape of his neck. He continues the motion, brushing the hair from Keith’s forehead as Keith quivers from the cold contact of the metal on his scalp. In turn, Keith grabs Shiro’s face with both hands and draws himself upward, pressing into Shiro as he kisses him.

 

Shiro encircles Keith’s waist with his flesh arm, his metal one still ruffling the hair on the back of Keith’s head and imploring that he keep kissing him until he’s breathless. Keith snakes around and straddles him, not managing to break apart, and Shiro just tightens his grip.

 

Shiro can’t let him go, be it in this moment or otherwise, but he has to.

 

“What’s wrong?” Keith asks between shallow breaths when Shiro turns his head away and severs the kiss.

 

“I broke my promise.” Shiro huffs, waiting to see realization alight in those pretty purple eyes. It doesn’t come, so Shiro clarifies it for him.

 

“I promised you I wouldn’t fall head over heels in love with you. I broke that promise.”

 

Keith is deadlocked in place. He doesn’t move and he hardly so much as breathes. He heard everything correctly judging by the sober temperament that’s overtaken Shiro, but that word just doesn’t sound right when directed at him.

 

Keith manages to croak out a small “I…” but nothing comes of it.

 

“You don’t love me, I know. But you trust me, and I think that’s more important for you.” Shiro says. It’s more a theory, something to give him hope that Keith could actually reciprocate something, but there’s a glimmer of truth. They secretly trust one another enough to keep this going without any casualties, be it their jobs or themselves.

 

“I should leave.” Keith says, detangling himself from Shiro’s lap and desperately checking the floor for wherever his pants are. So much for reciprocation.

 

“No, I’ll go. I have somewhere to be.” Shiro says stiffly.

 

Keith watches as Shiro reaches for his lion ring on the nightstand and slips it on the ring finger of his flesh hand. He knows that Shiro only wears it during significant breaches, and a slight stab of worry rips through him at the thought.

 

Keith tries to string together something, _anything_ intelligent to say, but he can’t find the right means of expressing himself. He doesn’t know what to do, but sitting immobile while he watches Shiro pull on the rest of his suit pieces leaves his stomach knotting.

 

Shiro keeps his back to Keith as he gets fully clothed. He mulls over the idea that this might be the last time he sees Keith, whether because he might die or because Keith might not want to see him again. He’s too busy coming down from the high of his confession to decide which is the less desirable.

 

Before he makes his retreat, Shiro hears Keith quietly ask, “What exactly do you want from me?”

 

And Shiro laughs bitterly. It’s a tinny and unsettling laugh and it doesn’t sound like it should have even come from him. He’s halfway through the doorway and he’s gripping the frame with his metal hand.

 

“I want _you_ ; it’s all I want nowadays. Mostly, though, I want you to tell him to treat you better. You’re not a fucking ashtray.” Shiro says and he leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exposition! Exposition for all! Also sorry I'm the worst, I know it.


	5. Don't Leave Me Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't normally put notes at the start of a chapter, but just as a forewarning, this chapter starts out heavy. It doesn't get too graphic but there's death and light suicidal thoughts as well as hinted body modification. I just want to make you aware!

_Shiro pushes open the door to his brother’s room, his breaths still coming to him in ripples._

_“Sorry I’m late, bud,” He puffs, “fight ran longer than I thought.”_

_He isn’t surprised when all he receives back is silence; Ryou doesn’t like being here and Shiro knows it. That, and the surmounting number of gashes now cresting across Shiro’s torso as a result of his fighting. Ryou doesn’t like that either. It scares him, so Shiro makes sure to always put on a long-sleeved shirt before checking on him. It’s a less exhausting alternative to having the same discussion about why they can’t leave here._

_Shiro moves into the room, observing just how many pockets of chipping paint there are along the walls. He’ll make sure to do something about it; it’s not exactly healthy for people with blood afflictions. He sets down his bag filled with his street clothes and his hand wraps._

_When Ryou still hasn’t said anything, Shiro continues: “Hey, c’mon, don’t be mad. I earned enough that they can probably up your dosage.”_

_Shiro moves over to the cot where Ryou stays all day. He’s probably sleeping, considering he hasn’t moved an inch nor made to ask Shiro how everything went. For some reason, anxiousness trickles through Shiro. He voice cracks a little when he speaks again._

_“You won’t be cooped up in here anymore if it works, isn’t that great?”_

_Shiro starts to panic when he sees that Ryou is lying on his back with his eyes open. He bolts forward, ripping the sheets off of Ryou and taking him into his arms. Ryou’s head hangs limply as Shiro shakes him, repeating his name over and over: “Ryou? Ryou? RYOU?”_

_This can’t be happening. They’ve been treating him while Shiro’s been away. They’ve been looking after him, administering his medicine. That was the bargain. Ryou’s been taking his medicine, so he’s got to be fine, but he’s so pale and he’s not responding to anything Shiro tries…_

_“Ryou? Buddy, please you can’t do this to me.” Shiro holds Ryou to him, and he’s keenly aware of how sallow and barely even tepid his brother is. Shiro has his chin tucked on top of Ryou’s shoulder now and a dry sob escapes him. Whatever he’s holding isn’t Ryou anymore._

_“Don’t leave me alone.” Shiro whimpers as a last ditch effort. Tears slip down his face as he mourns the loss of his younger brother, but within the same breath he’s suddenly nauseous at the thought of holding him any longer. He lays his brother back down on the cot and his breathing has now become so ragged that he feels himself fading. He wishes he would. He wants nothing more than to join Ryou in this state, but life clings to him like a parasite._

_And then his remorse, his guilt, his inexorable sadness melds into something else. All he can feel is hatred for Zarkon and for everyone in this place. They were the ones who let this happen to Ryou. His pain devolves into a fury that makes him care about nothing else other than retribution. He doesn’t care what it takes; he needs to satiate the burning sensation building up in his hands._

_He gets up and mechanically leaves Ryou’s room, his legs feeling quite leaden. When he finds Zarkon, he’s with Haggar, naturally. She sizes Shiro up when he bursts in, smiling at him almost knowingly behind her scraggly white hair. Shiro wants to keep his evenness about him, but the second Zarkon begins to utter something along the lines of “Shiro, to what do I owe the pleasure”, Shiro lunges forward, clutching his right hand as tightly around Zarkon’s throat as possible._

_“You let him die, you son of a bitch!” Shiro barks, clenching his grip on Zarkon so hard that veins protrude from his hand. Zarkon’s breathing is labored but he manages to give Shiro a rather crooked, leathery grin._

_“We didn’t let him die, Shiro. We just fed him too much. He couldn’t withstand it.” Haggar clarifies behind Shiro, and the lack of understanding has Shiro wanting to choke the life out of her too._

_But then it comes to him._

_“You’ve been keeping him sick.” Shiro says aloud as it crosses his mind. The sudden awareness physically wilts him, and his hold on Zarkon slacks. He forgets that there’s anyone else in the room at all save for Haggar and himself._

_“You promised you were going to use my winnings to buy him his medicine, but that stuff you were giving him…it kept him sick, didn’t it? That’s why he never got any better.”_

_Zarkon’s fist barrels into Shiro’s stomach suddenly, effectively knocking the wind out of him. When Shiro blanches and grasps at the affected area, he hears the safety click off of Zarkon’s gun._

_The cold pucker of the gun’s muzzle presses into Shiro’s temple and Shiro mentally begs for him to do it. Please just end this._

_“You really ought to be flattered; we wanted to keep you here with us. You were so promising, Shiro.” Zarkon drawls in false pity. He then withdraws the gun from Shiro’s head and bluntly clouts Shiro at the base of his neck with it._

_Before he blacks out, Shiro hears Zarkon tell Haggar: "Take the one he dared to strike me with.”_

_The last thing Takashi Shirogane touched with two human hands was the dead body of his younger brother. A body which, after his dismissal, he never managed to find._

Shiro’s body wracks with a painful cry when he wakes up. He clamps his metal hand over his mouth to keep from retching as he closes his eyes again, counting to ten in his head. It’s been so long since he’s had the dream in its entirety.

 

_One._

_He can’t unsee Ryou. There’s no coming back from that._

_Two._

_He’s better than this. This is pathetic._

_Three._

_What kind of leader can’t even help himself?_

_Four._

_What kind of leader can’t even save a little boy…_

Shiro slips out of bed, only at that point noticing the sunlight sweeping in through the clefts in the blinds. If nothing else, he slept through the night.

 

He pads down the hallway with his bare feet, becoming instantly self-conscious about not putting on a shirt as he accidentally interrupts a heated discussion between Lance and Hunk. Lance has Hunk cornered against the far wall.

 

“Lance,” Hunk says exasperatedly, “I only meant that-“

 

“-Stop it. You’re going to be _fine_. I’ll be watching you!” Lance says and emphasizes this by gripping the collar of Hunk’s shirt. There’s no menacing feeling behind the action; rather, it’s desperation. Like Lance needs to hold onto something to get his bearings.

 

Hunk sighs and places a calm hand over the one that Lance is gripping him with.

 

“Listen, this isn’t just about me. If I get hurt, you gotta stay up there. You’re a sniper for a reason.”

 

“You’re not going to get hurt.” Lance bites out through a squared jaw, as if every word is painful for him.

 

“Lance…” Hunk trails off.

 

“No! _Nobody_ is going to hurt you and nobody is going to take you from me.” Lance cries. He doesn’t even give Hunk the opportunity to argue before he rocks onto the tips of his toes and kisses him. It’s a short but intense kiss, performed in the hopes of finding a truce and forgetting their dispute. Lance abruptly breaks from his boyfriend and shuffles past Shiro, who is rooted to the spot.

 

“Lance, we aren’t done here!” Hunk scolds, going to rush after him but stopping when he sees Shiro. A look of humiliation overtakes Hunk’s features.

 

“Shiro! I’m sorry you had to-“ Again Hunk is cut off when Shiro holds up his metal hand in front of Hunk’s face to quiet him.

 

“Don’t apologize, he’s just scared. It’s a good thing, Hunk. You’re everything to him.” Shiro feels his chest constrict a little as he says it, and he tries to think of anything but the look on Keith’s face when he left him last.

 

“I gotta go find him.” Hunk says, patting Shiro on the shoulder and heading after Lance.

 

When he’s alone again, Shiro takes lengthy breaths in and out.

 

_Five._

_He doesn’t love you. You have to let go._

_Six._

_It’s an important day, time to focus._

_Seven…_

\-----

 

Keith doesn’t especially savor waking up in Lotor’s bed; it gives off the appearance that whatever they have is much more than it is. Still, it’s certainly a more lush choice than Keith’s beat-up twin bed back at his apartment.

 

Lotor’s space is empty, which eliminates any potential for awkward pillowtalk, so that’s a small miracle. Keith’s not sure where he needs to be, but it definitely isn’t twisted up in the bed sheets of his employer’s son on the day he’s supposed to perform an assassination.

 

Keith’s feet hit the floor with a grunt and he begins dressing. As he shrugs on his jacket, Lotor enters and clicks his tongue disapprovingly at the sight of Keith leaving.

 

“Going already?” Lotor asks.

 

“Unless you’re serving me pancakes in bed, I don’t really have much of an incentive to stay.” Keith replies, slipping on his fingerless gloves as he does so. He turns to look at Lotor, who has an impassive face but a hunger in his eye.

 

Keith doesn’t make it far before Lotor grabs him by the wrist and pins him to the door. It’s fast but not forceful. Keith mulls over how physical violence is a step too far but somehow bestowing cigarette burns is fair game. He lets it happen, though, so Lotor isn’t entirely to blame. There’s a weird rush that he gets from the zap of pain.

 

Lotor hoists his knee between Keith’s legs and moves it back and forth. Keith, in response, drags his nails down the length of the door and moans at the sensation. He finds himself grinding against Lotor despite his intentions to get the hell out of there.

 

“I gotta go.” Keith sighs and puts his hand on Lotor’s thigh as if that’s going to dissuade him. Surprisingly enough, Lotor pulls back, though not before dragging his hand along Keith’s cheek and kissing him. Keith ruffles his hand through Lotor’s long, platinum hair, though it makes him think of someone else’s white hair. A small forelock amid a dark buzzcut and a mapping of chest scars are all that Keith pictures. There’s no point in questioning why.

 

Keith pushes Lotor back lightly with two gloved fingers.

 

“I have a mission to complete.” He says, and that uncomfortable Lotor smile creeps up.

 

“It’d be a shame if you died.” Lotor says and that’s more of an emotional disclosure than Keith would have ever expected. For Lotor, it’s almost sweet. Too bad everything Lotor does when it comes to Keith feels like an act of possession, a flag waving moment in which he’s staking a claim.

 

Keith gropes around behind him for the lock. Once he has the door open he says:

 

“Not that much of a shame, really. Just make sure you find someone else in my price range. That way, you won’t even have to recount anything.”

 

Keith leaves it at that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's sad, even I'm sad, what have I done. What will I continue to do.


	6. First Steps

Shiro goes through a mental checklist of everything that needs to happen that night as he heads back to his room. He’s just moved past “meet up with Allura” and is halfway to “position Hunk” when he sees Pidge sitting on his bed, toying with a circuit board no bigger than her palm. He smiles affectionately to himself upon observing how much like a teenager at a science fair she is, tampering away at her gadget. Maybe in another life, she could have been a brilliant student going to science fairs, though the EMP device in question wouldn’t have been stolen in said scenario. Shiro’s saddened to think of what a loss that is for her, but that’s what gangs are made of: the Could-Have-Been’s.

 

“Whatcha doin’?” He asks, and sits down on the bed beside her.

 

The device, which looks more and more like a black vintage camera the longer Shiro looks at it, gets set to the wayside by Pidge before she runs a finger around a copper wire that forms a curlicue at the device’s edge.

 

“Just checking to make sure these coils are tight enough.” Pidge responds plainly.

 

“And you had to be in my room to do that?” Shiro says and stitches his metal hand through the hair on the back of her head to show that he isn’t angry. He can’t bring himself to be angry with her no matter what she does.

 

Her amber eyes flicker up to Shiro’s face as she shakes her head.

 

“I need you for something.” She says.

 

“What kind of something?”

 

“I need you to help me get the switch started with the EMP tonight.”

 

Shiro pivots so that he can face her properly.

 

“What? How can I do that?”

 

“Your arm. It can create energy, which I’ll need to help me relay the current of energy and fry the electricity at the Galra warehouse.” Pidge explains, and when she reaches to take hold of Shiro’s metal arm, he relaxes it and allows her to.

 

“You think that’ll work?” Shiro says skeptically, glancing sideways at her.

 

Pidge looks up from behind Shiro’s metal arm and says, “You can control it, right? I’ve seen you do it.”

 

Shiro chews his lip pensively before conceding: “Well, yes and no. I’ve used it before when I’ve needed to, but it also tends to react on its own now and then. It just starts glowing when I haven’t willed it to and I don’t know why.”

 

Pidge shrugs, “It’s a magic extremity you had forcibly placed onto you. I don’t think you’re meant to know how it works completely. For now, the fact that you can use it when you need is good enough for me.”

 

Shiro nods sedately at that, not really knowing what to say. It sounded like the dream every comic book told him he’d want: waking up suddenly with abilities that transcend human capacity, but it never felt that way. It still doesn’t.

 

Pidge grabs Shiro’s metal hand and squeezes. Shiro can’t exactly _feel_ it, but he recognizes the sensation enough to give her his attention.

 

“You okay?” She says.

 

“What makes you ask?”

 

“You haven’t gone to see your friend.”

 

Shiro’s stomach does a flip when she says it, though he shouldn’t be surprised. Pidge made a living off of recognizing peoples’ routines once.

 

“No, I haven’t.” Shiro confirms.

 

“Did you make things awkward by being all dramatic and giving him a ‘this-could-be-our-last’ kiss?” She raises her brow suggestively at him and smirks.

 

“Something along those lines.” Shiro says.

 

The small dip in the mattress where Pidge was sitting lifts back up as she gets to her feet. She hovers over Shiro only because she’s the one standing, but she slowly encircles her arms around Shiro’s shoulders and brings him into a gentle embrace. Shiro, in turn, hugs her back. Pidge has never been elated at the idea of physical touches, but she gives in now and then.

 

“You’ll see him again.” She declares.

 

“You think so?” Shiro says.

 

Pidge pulls back in order to look at him more sternly.

 

“Unless you’re mussing up your own hair and giving yourself hickeys, I think it’s fair to say he’s come to you every time you’ve come to him. I kind of suck at romance and relationships, but I think there’s something to be said for that.” She says.

 

Shiro nods, because the least he can do for her is entertain the idea that she’s right.

 

“Anyway, I should go. I stole Matt’s lock pick and he’s gonna know it was me.” She says and offers Shiro a smile before she goes.

 

A thought then comes to Shiro.

 

“Wait, you didn’t take anything from my room, right? Pidge?” He calls after her, and he swears he hears her snicker as she traipses down the hallway.

 

\-----

 

Allura has never been late to anything in her entire life; her upbringing had seen to that. Now, however, as a stranger’s hand is clamped roughly over her mouth and she feels the cold kiss of a gun against her head, she fears that that habit may be a tad compromised.

 

She can’t see her captor or much of anything for that matter considering she’s been pulled aside into a dreary alleyway, but part of her feels like she can overpower him or at least catch him off guard. She just has to time it correctly.

 

The hand on her mouth has a fingerless glove over it and all she can taste is the faux leather as the man tightens his grip to stifle her further. Her arms hang lossesly at her sides because this guy seems to be relying heavily on Allura’s fear of the gun.

 

“Sorry to have to do this to you.” The man says in a gruff voice behind her.

 

The safety is clicked off and Allura moves as nimbly as she can. First, she elbows him pointedly in the chest cavity. Then, as she hears the breath forcibly exhaled from him, she tries to deliver a blow. Unfortunately he just as soon catches her wrist. Allura closes her eyes.

 

 _I’m going to die here_ , she thinks. _I’m so sorry Father, Shiro, Paladins…_

She’s dumbfounded when the next sound that immediately reaches her isn’t the gunshot that will take her life but rather a terse gasp. She opens her eyes and sees her captor: a slim, dark-haired man with violet eyes that are currently transfixed upon the hand that he has in his grasp. To her horror she realizes that what he’s staring so intently at is the lion ring that Shiro gave to her just the other day.

 

“Where…did you get that?” The man asks and it’s so hypnotic that Allura wonders if he realizes he still in the midst of a murder/kidnapping.

 

“None of your business.” She snaps, albeit in a gravelly voice.

 

The man has clearly lost all patience as he backs her against a wall and his eyes carve into her with a dark glare.

 

“What did you do with him?” He growls, and Allura feels more lost with each passing second.

 

“With whom?” Allura says.

 

The gun now feebly presses against her rib and the man shakes the hand of hers that he still has ensnared, specifically roving his thumb over the ring on her finger.

 

“You know goddamn well who. Where is he?” He enforces this by pressing the gun harder against her, but Allura’s becoming less and less certain that he even plans to use the damn thing.

 

“I don’t have to tell you anything.” Allura mutters, only because she’s more worried now for Shiro’s safety than her own.

 

“I swear, if I find out you hurt him…” The anger boiling in her captor is rising to his face, his cheeks blossoming red.

 

“If _I_ hurt him?” Allura says confusedly. From her perspective, she’s not the one flouncing about with a gun and a dangerously short temper.

 

A look of pure vulnerability flashes behind the man’s eyes. He puts the gun into a pouch resting on his narrow hip and he releases her hand in the meanwhile.

 

“If you don’t have him, then who does? Where did you get his ring?” He says and it’s so softly spoken that Allura can’t believe this is the same person who dragged her into this alley.

 

Allura’s brow raises with curiosity. “What is he to you?”

 

The man’s shoulders square and his jaw sets defensively.

 

“What is he to _you_?” He reiterates.

 

Allura eases a little as she says: “A friend.”

 

The man looks like he’s battling with himself, scrunching his mouth like he either doesn’t know what to say or whether he should say anything at all.

 

“He’s gotta be in trouble if he’s getting help from you.” He says and watches her expectantly, awaiting confirmation.

 

“He could be, if I don’t get to him. He has no idea what he’s headed into.” She purposely leaves out the detail that she herself has no idea what the Galra are capable of doing.

 

“Not Zarkon.” The man guesses. A look of utter dread has now washed over him.

 

“Not exactly; just a place he sometimes operates out of.” Why Allura feels the need to be soothing him rather than trying to leave, she doesn’t know, but he looks thoroughly distraught.

 

“Where?”

 

“A warehouse that I saw one of his lackeys at, what does it matter?” Allura says and before she gets a proper answer, the man is tugging at her hand and leading her sporadically away from the alley.

 

“We have to go.” He says.

 

“What?”

 

The man swivels around and grabs her by the shoulders, though not with the intention of frightening or hurting her this time.

 

“Zakron is waiting for me. He’s going to _be_ there tonight; we have to get to Shiro before he gets hurt.”

 

A chill zips down Allura’s spine as he says it.

 

“Zarkon is…but why?” She says.

 

“I’ll explain on the way, but we have to go.” The man tugs her again and she lets him, keeping up pace as they begin to sprint.

 

“What’s your name?” She huffs out.

 

“Keith.” He replies curtly.

 

“Well, Keith,” she says through heavy breaths as she attempts to not step on the hem of her pants, “I’m not sure why Shiro’s so important to you nor am I sure that I can really trust you.”

 

“Congratulations, that’s the first step in getting to know me.” Keith says. As for how important Shiro is to him, he doesn’t know how to articulate. The fact that this is the second time he’s thrown away a mission to ensure Shiro’s safety seems to speak for itself, but he doesn’t focus on it. All that matters to Keith is getting to him on time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays, have some protective Keith/inadvertent Sheith. Also I promise I'm done beating around the bush and the action is coming as of next time!


	7. The Heist, Pt. 1

Lance glances at his watch again, his feet tapping in almost Morse code into the dirt. It’s a few minutes past nine o’clock and already he’s about to crawl out of his skin from anxiousness.

 

“Where is she?” He asks in a lowered voice, looking to Shiro.

 

Shiro’s mouth is a firm line.

 

“I don’t know.” He admits.

 

“You think she got tied up?” Matt asks.

 

“She definitely wouldn’t have forgotten…” Hunk says.

 

“Should we just go home? Do it a different night?” Pidge says.

 

Shiro’s brows weave together in aggravation. He doesn’t want to do this without Allura considering the entire operation was her idea, but something in him refuses to turn back. There’s a tension that’s accumulated in him for the better part of three years since his departure from Zarkon, and he feels that he can no longer keep it under control before it snaps. All those nightmares in the shape of Ryou’s motionless body, all those terrible memories of sopping up strangers’ blood in a fighting ring for a man who slowly poisoned his brother and took his arm…

 

“No,” Shiro says decisively, “we’re doing this tonight.”

 

A few sparing, concerned looks are thrown at Shiro but none of them speak against him.

 

“What should we do when Allura gets here?” Lance says, still nervously fidgeting and glancing at Hunk whenever possible.

 

“We’ve all got our earpieces. If one of you spots her, let us know.” Shiro says, to which they all nod.

 

“Hunk, you’re going to be around the front, Lance has our aerial, and I’m going in with the Holts.” He adds.

 

Lance cocks and eyebrow and says, “I know you gotta jumpstart the EMP thingy, but weren’t you supposed to be with Allura? You’re not going off on your _own_?”

 

Shiro meets Lance’s eye and says, “Yes, I am. I have to. We’ll cover more ground if I split off from Pidge and Matt.”

 

“Shiro, are you sure that’s the best idea?” Matt says in a wavering tone.

 

“It’s not my first go with these bastards. I’ll be fine.” He says and he punctuates it with a smile. He trusts his Paladins to do well and to help him if need be, though they’re all smart enough to know by now that he never asks for help.

 

Pidge withdraws the circuit board from her pocket and looks at Shiro.

 

“Ready?” She asks, and he nods at her. They’re a few good yards from the warehouse for discretion’s sake, but even still the weathered, blanched look to the wood along with the ghastly white light filtering inside is vexing.

 

“You guys know where to go?” Shiro asks one last time, bobbing his head upward to emphasize the fire escape on the adjacent building for Lance to clamber up.

 

“We’ve got it. Good luck.” Hunk says assuredly.

 

Shiro turns and heads toward the warehouse with the Holts, mimicking their light footing as best as someone of his stature can. Hunk gives them some distance ahead of him, and when he makes to head to his position, Lance’s trembling hand clamps down onto his forearm.

 

“Wait.” Lance barely manages to whisper.

 

Hunk turns to him and says, “You okay?”

 

Lance can’t feel his legs enough to be tapping them anymore; all that nervous energy has shifted to his hand, which feels like it’s about to flop off his wrist if he doesn’t quit. He wets his lips and looks at Hunk like he’s the only thing that matters. In retrospect, he is. This moment is all there is.

 

“I’m sorry about earlier, I didn’t mean to storm away from you like that.” Lance says calmly.

 

Hunk smiles so warmly at him that Lance tries to backtrack altogether. There’s no way he can do this, not with Hunk looking at him like that. Still, somehow, he goes on.

 

“I meant what I said, though. I can’t stand the thought of losing you and I don’t mean to. So, after everything’s said and done tonight, after I’m done making sure you’re safe and we all get out of here okay…”

 

Hunk’s eyes go round. He hasn’t seen Lance this vulnerable in a long time. Lance’s shaking hand has moved from Hunk’s arm to grip one of his big, partially gloved hands. Hunk can feel the clammy, cold sheen of sweat on Lance’s hand.

 

“I wanna marry you. I know it sounds crazy, me throwing away my incredible talent for flirting, but I don’t care. You’re the only one I want to flirt with anyway and—oh God, Hunk, please _say_ something.” Lance rambles until he feels like he’s forgotten every word he’s ever learned. He gives Hunk’s hand a squeeze.

 

Hunk exhales with relief, a wideset grin now having found its place on his features. He tugs Lance along by their respective linked hands and brings him into a brief, giddy kiss. When he pulls back, looking pleasantly at a starry-eyed Lance, Hunk says coyly:

 

“I hope you like old fashioned weddings.”

 

Lance smirks and says, “I prefer old fashioned wedding _nights_.”

 

“I think we’ve had that a few times over, babe.” Hunk says with a laugh.

 

Lance feels like his head is tied to the clouds between getting that huge weight off his shoulders _and_ getting the answer he wanted from the love of his life. He springs forward and encompasses Hunk in another kiss, wrapping his arms behind Hunk’s neck so he can deepen it. Hunk gladly reciprocates, though he just as soon cuts away, causing Lance to leave a trail of fluttery kisses to the side of his mouth and jaw.

 

“I have to go cover them.” Hunk says, his chest rising and falling with labored breathing.

 

Lance lets up on him and nods in understanding, his cheek brushing against Hunk’s.

 

“I should go too.” Lance says, unloops his arms, and takes a step back from his newly affianced love.

 

“Be safe. I love you.” Hunk says when Lance’s back is to him.

 

Lance hops up onto the inky black fire escape and says, “I love you too” as he continues climbing. He’s still reeling to the point where he feels he's forgotten how to shoot.

 

\-----

 

“You need to stay as silent as possible, you got that? If they know you’re alive and that I brought you here, it’ll mean the end of us both.” Keith whispers to Allura. The two of them are tucked in a corner of the warehouse behind a tower of crates.

 

“How exactly are we helping Shiro by doing this?” Allura asks.

 

“We have no idea where he is, but if I can distract them, I can try to make sure they never find out he got in here. In the meantime, when you find an opening, you sneak away, find him, and get the hell outta here.” Keith replies.

 

The sound of a door opening on the other side of the room causes them both to jolt and Keith’s hand instinctively flies to cover Allura’s mouth.

 

“Stay hidden.” He commands and moves out from behind his crouching position.

 

The very last person Keith wants to see aside from Zarkon is there, and he raises his brow curiously when he spots Keith.

 

“Finished?” Lotor asks.

 

As Lotor approaches him, Keith is suddenly aware of how much like a guilty child he’s acting: clenching and unclenching his hands and looking all about the room.

 

“Yep, she’s dead.” He says.

 

Lotor’s hand inches its way along the dips in Keith’s collarbone and Keith is all but holding his breath as he does so.

 

Finally, Lotor says in a carnal sort of tone: “Good.”

 

As Lotor brings his lips closer to Keith’s, a loud thump erupts and the two of them whip around to find a very pale-faced, wide-eyed Allura. Keith’s hand flies to the gun strapped to his hip before Lotor even moves. By the time Lotor does try to scuttle over to Allura, Keith’s already aimed for Lotor and pulled the trigger.

 

Keith barely has time to process the way his finger is curled against the metallic crescent of the pulled-back trigger before he realizes that nothing’s come out of it; only a loud pop sound. Otherwise, Lotor is still standing before him with a face that dissolves from open-mouthed shock into a scowl.

 

“It’s blank…” Keith murmurs to himself. They gave him a blank gun.

 

Allura shouts Keith’s name when she sees Lotor getting ready to round on him. That’s when the lights go out.

 

\-----

 

Shiro powers his arm down as soon as the electricity goes out. Thankfully the three of them are up high near an overhead breaker so it’s likely no one noticed the small strip of purple light in those few microseconds. Despite the warehouse being engulfed in darkness, Shiro can still see between the interference of the moon and the amber streetlights outside.

 

“You guys head down the corridor to the left; I’m taking the right. Can you see in the dark?” Shiro says to them.

 

“Is that something that’s supposed to be hard to do?” Matt responds.

 

“We’ll be fine, Shiro. We’ll let you know if and when we find anything.” Pidge says.

 

“Good. Remember, it’s probably going to be in some sort of phial or container.” Shiro adds.

 

“We’d better go. I’m sure this place has a backup generator, so we could only have minutes before the power’s back.” Pidge says.

 

“Be safe, Paladins.” Shiro whispers, and he makes sure to press his earpiece so that each one of them hears it. Shiro hears the pattering of Matt’s feet—Pidge is impossible to hear because she’s so small and quick—and he too sets off the opposite way.

 

Wherever Zarkon’s hiding this stuff, it’s most certainly on the main floor, so Shiro gets down on his knees, slinks over to where the landing tapers off, and hangs off the side. His landing is far less graceful than he would have preferred but he doesn’t hear anyone else moving around aside from himself.

 

Shiro takes to feeling along the walls, searching for some kind of knob or switch or something leading to another room. His metal hand laps at the wall intermittently, and he’s about to give up on this particular section when two loud gunshots sound outside, one and then the next after only a breath’s worth of time has lapsed.

 

A frantic Lance then comes in through Shiro’s earpiece: “Hunk got shot, I—I didn’t even see her! I don’t where she came from, she…he’s been hit, Shiro. I can’t stay up here; I have to go check on him. Oh my God, oh my God.”

 

Shiro takes a quick, frigid inhale of air, and the resurgence of inorganic white light in the room makes him feel temporarily dizzy. He steps back from the wall, covering his eyes, and he hears someone enter the main room he’s currently in. He doesn’t need to turn around to know who it is; the newfound sense of suffocation in the area can only belong to one such individual.

 

“Welcome back, Shiro.” Zarkon says menacingly.

 

He knows Zarkon is watching his every move, so he tries not to physically carry all his fears in his stance, but he still can’t bring himself to look at the face of this man. Until…

 

“I’ve brought you a present.” Zarkon adds, and when Shiro removes his hand from his eyes, he watches Keith’s body get tossed carelessly to the floor in the space between them.

 

Shiro wants so badly to play it off as nothing, because he knows it’ll only make things worse if he figures out how much Keith means to him, but Zarkon has built an empire on recognizing the subtleties in people to gauge their weaknesses. There’s no possible way that he doesn’t notice the pain that flickers in Shiro’s eyes nor the way Shiro’s throat constricts, so Shiro gives in. He croaks out the only thing he’s thinking at that point:

 

“Keith…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, you came here for Sheith? Joke's on you, you got a surprise Hance engagement instead. Thanks for the kudos, comments, and patience as ever, my darlings! It's been a big couple of weeks between getting recommended on twitter and having another fic of mine get fan art drawn of it. I can't thank you all enough for all the love and support!
> 
> Lastly, I promise I actually love these characters and don't wish any ill will on them; I just gotta show you what they can make it through is all...


	8. The Heist, Pt. 2

_“Hunk got shot, I—I didn’t even see her! I don’t where she came from, she…he’s been hit, Shiro. I can’t stay up here; I have to go check on him. Oh my God, oh my God.”_

Matt taps his earpiece, sighs, and looks at Pidge to his left. They’re both planted firmly in front of a large keepsake of glass capsules, each one filled with a glowing purple substance. Behind them is the unconscious lackey that Pidge descended on and jabbed roughly in the forehead.

 

“What should we do?” Matt asks.

 

“I have an idea. You probably won’t like it, but it’s all we’ve got.” Pidge offers.

 

“Go on.” He implores, and Pidge brushes past him and pulls out a capsule of the serum.

 

“What are you doing with that?” Matt says and before he’s even finished, Pidge has thrust the capsule into his hands.

 

“Take it to Hunk.” She says.

 

Matt’s mouth falls open and he stammers a bit as he says, “Pidge, we don’t know what this stuff _does_!”

 

“We know it has healing properties, if Allura’s calculations are right. Besides, why would Zarkon use it on himself if it were dangerous? Go out there, help Lance, and take it to him.”

 

“Pidge…”

 

“Matt, we don’t have _time_. Hunk could be dying.”

 

Matt stays quiet, trying to figure out an alternative, but there isn’t one.

 

“Fine, but where are you going?” Matt says with worry in his tone.

 

“Something’s not right; we haven’t heard back from Shiro. I’m going to go find him. I’ll stay out of sight, promise.” Pidge says, and Matt rubs the top of her head fondly.

 

“I’ll go ahead of you and keep you covered while you head out there.” Pidge says.

 

“Why?” Matt asks.

 

“They’re not alone out there; Lance said a woman shot Hunk.”

 

“Yeah, but Lance got her. There were two shots. I can do this; you go make sure Shiro’s alright.” Matt says and Pidge nods before drifting past him so nimbly that even he has a hard time noticing it.

 

\-----

 

Lance lands on the ground in a rather inelegant manner, feeling all his weight crash down onto the pads of his feet, though it feels like his head is still on top of the building above him. He can’t register what’s happening, but he just moves, his gun heavy like an anvil in his hand and clicking as he goes.

 

He’s trained himself to see in the dark, cleaving out any room for error, because missing even a departing coat tail or the sound of a twig snapping can mean the difference between getting the upper hand. The sniper sees with his eyes and his ears, so now Lance is doing nothing but berating himself for _somehow_ not noticing a thing about that figure until she’d already hurt Hunk. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

 

As he sprints toward where he sees Hunk crouching, he feels a tiny shred of relief that he’s at least moving. Lance had briefly entertained the thought of finding Hunk spread eagle with a pool of blood beneath him and it made his legs wobble as he ran. He keeps his eyes on Hunk as he’s nearing him and almost trips over the needle-thin form of a woman who is holding a weeping wound in her thigh. It doesn’t take Lance more than a second to realize she’s the one who’s caused all of this and the bullet hole she’s nursing was formed by him. A veil of long, white hair falls ahead of her face so Lance can’t exactly read her expression, but despite her pained gasps he’s sure she’s pleased with herself, as she says:

 

“You were faster than I expected, though not enough.”

 

Lance curls his nose at her tone and furthermore upon noticing her hands as she covers her wound. Scars like tree rings adorn the back of either hand and a fresh coating of red doesn’t add much. It makes his stomach churn just to look at her.

 

“If I were you, I’d leave him.” She rasps, inclining her head toward Hunk, who’s trembling on his knees.

 

Lance points his rifle at the woman’s forehead and says, “Yeah, well, if you were me, you’d be good-looking.”

 

He fires, and he doesn’t miss this time. She slumps to one side and Lance steps over her without a second thought.

 

When he gets to Hunk, he places his hands on either side of Hunk’s face and gurgles out something akin to Hunk’s name, but it’s hard to tell through the wetness in his voice.

 

Hunk is masking the wound in his side with his hand, and it thankfully only takes one due to the sheer size of his palms.

 

“I let this happen, even after I said I wouldn’t. I’m so sorry, Hunk. I’m so stupid.” Lance is silenced from his ranting when Hunk puts two fingers against his lips with his unoccupied hand.

 

“I’m not…gonna feel any better…by hearing you talk like that.” Hunk manages between long lengths of breaths. When he can’t stand it anymore, he lets himself sit backward on the ground just to take some pressure off of his legs and his wound. Lance follows him as he moves, afraid to take his hands off of him.

 

Lance presses one of his hands against the one that Hunk is using to seal his wound, albeit very badly. The blood feels like it’s getting colder and stickier the longer Hunk keeps his hand there, and Hunk doesn’t really want to consider the fact that he may be dying. He tries to ignore the newfound lightheadedness and the feeling in his fingertips that can only be described as feeling the way a fuzzy television station looks.

 

Lance pushes his and Hunk’s hands harder against the wound, desperation and tears mixing upon Lance’s face all the while.

 

“Hey,” Hunk says as softly as he can, “don’t worry. There’s a lot of me to go through.” And it’s true; if that bullet had zipped through Lance’s side instead of Hunk’s, Lance might have already died or at least gone into critical condition by now.

 

Hunk’s words have little effect, as Lance is still shivering and crying, and so Hunk turns his head and deposits a light kiss into the palm that Lance still has against his cheek.

 

When Matt pops up unexpectedly behind Lance and mutters a quiet “Hey”, Lance jerks and turns around, yelling at him:

 

“Don’t _do_ that!”

 

Matt produces the glowing capsule from beneath his jacket. He says: “I came to help.”

 

Lance says, “What are you gonna do with that? Didn’t we promise Allura we’d give it to her or, I don’t know, destroy the stuff?”

 

Matt doesn’t bother to answer and kneels beside Hunk, giving him a smile that he tries to keep devoid of pity.

 

“You okay, big guy?” He says, and despite his paling, Hunk looks decent for someone who’s just been shot. At least he does from Matt’s perspective.

 

“Been better.” Hunk says back with a slight chuckle. He squeezes his eyes shut in pain.

 

When Matt begins to unscrew the top of the capsule, Lance jumps back frantically.

 

“Whoa, whoa, you aren’t using _that_ on him?”

 

“You got a better idea?” Matt says, turning to look at Lance.

 

“Isn’t that the weird magic potion stuff that Zarkon uses to keep himself immortal? Not that I don’t want you to live forever, babe.” Lance says and makes a hasty gesture with his hands to show that he wasn’t trying to be offensive.

 

“Yeah but it doesn’t _make_ him immortal or he wouldn’t need to keep using it. I think it’s just a really effective healing serum. Either way, it’s what we have to work with.” Matt explains and fully opens the container.

 

Hunk looks at Lance, whom he can tell has apprehensiveness dripping out of every pore.

 

“Let him do it.” Hunk says calmly. Lance nods, his eyes now glued to Matt as he watches him douse Hunk’s side in the glowing purple substance.

 

At first it seems like nothing happens whatsoever, but then the liquid all but disappears as it dissolves into Hunk’s skin. Hunk emits a strange sort of mewl as the substance seeps into his wound. It feels like dozens of little pins are pricking him as the pain in his side slowly starts to diffuse. He then feels the bizarre sensation of the bullet escaping from the wound, as though it’s a living thing wriggling out of him. When the bullet exits him, he feels nothing at all.

 

Hunk touches the place where the now phantom bullet wound was located and indeed, there’s no lingering proof that Hunk had ever been hurt to begin with.

 

Matt notes the color forming back on Hunk’s face while a stunned Lance makes a noise that’s somewhere between an exhale of relief and a small laugh.

 

“It worked.” Hunk says in an entranced voice.

 

“Welcome back.” Matt says.

 

\-----

 

Pidge has never had any affinity for crawling through vents, but seeing as how she’s the smallest, she always seems to be the one to end up in them. The icy feel of the metal against her kneecaps and her elbows is jarring, but she presses on, listening for Shiro in the meantime.

 

She stops when she picks up on the sound of struggling and a muffled voice, though it sounds feminine given the pitch. She scuttles over to the shutters of an opening and peers through them down below, where she immediately recognizes the starry platinum hair of Allura.

 

Allura’s hands are tied behind her back and she’s bound to a chair, fidgeting as much as possible. In front of her is a lithe individual, though Pidge can’t exactly make out a face from this angle. He hooks a hand under Allura’s chin and coos to her:

 

“I wish I could keep you company for longer, but I have to go join my father. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

 

Allura mutters a series of profanities behind her cloth-muzzled mouth, still writhing to try and get free. When Lotor turns his back and leaves her in the room by herself, she hears the aggravated screech of something opening above her. She then feels a light whoosh of air and something tugging at her binds.

 

“Don’t worry,” Pidge murmurs close to her ear, “I’m gonna get you out of these.”

 

Pidge takes out the modest little knife that she keeps attached to her boots during situations such as these and Allura lets out a muffled cry of delight as Pidge hacks at the ropes around her wrist. When the knots finally give way, Allura stands and removes the gag from her mouth.

 

“Pidge, I’m so happy to see you!” Allura exclaims even with her unbearably dry throat. She brings Pidge into a hug that Pidge reciprocates but just as soon breaks free from.

 

“How did you even get here? _When_ did you get here?” Pidge asks.

 

“I came here with Keith.” Allura says, and adds: “Speaking of which, we have to go. They’ve hurt him!”

 

Allura nods her head at the doorway and begins ambling toward it with Pidge following instantly.

 

“Wait, who is Keith?” Pidge questions, her brow hiked up in genuine confusion.

 

\-----

 

Keith is alive; that’s the first thing Shiro notices. After his first vulnerable look, Shiro’s eyes rake all over Keith’s body, searching for any signs of life. He knows that Zarkon is drinking this all in, deriving a sick pleasure from Shiro’s torment, but that doesn’t matter to him. What matters is the light bobbing of Keith’s torso as he inhales and exhales.

 

The second thing Shiro notices is the pair of bruises—one near Keith’s chin and the other near the base of his neck—that are such a ripe purple, Shiro finds himself yearning to look at that constellation of cigarette burns instead.

 

The third thing Shiro notices is Keith is completely unarmed. He doesn’t even see Keith’s usual dagger on his hip.

 

“I want to thank you, Shiro. Even when you’re no longer in my services, you still find a way to deliver. In one evening, you’ve handed me my enemies, the Commissioner’s daughter, and a traitor.” Zarkon prods at Keith’s spine with the tip of his foot for emphasis.

 

“I don’t know why he constantly throws everything away for _you_ , however.” Lotor comments as he enters, taking his place beside his father to glower at Shiro. The pettiness in his tone and his stance are more than enough for Shiro to understand that he’s Keith’s other lover. The mere thought of that sparks a possessive heat in Shiro’s stomach, but that’s neither here nor there at this point.

 

“Let him go,” Shiro says, his eyes darting from Keith to Zarkon and back, “he doesn’t have anything to do with this."

 

Zarkon’s wry mouth twists into a sideways smile.

 

“No, he actually has quite a bit to do with this. The boy you love is also the reason your enemy is currently alive, Shiro.” Zarkon says.

 

“What?” Shiro says.

 

“The easiest way to explain is a timeline. Around the time you first started working for me, I got a rather unfortunate diagnosis. I was dying of an affliction of the blood, one that is very common here in Altea and one that I’m certain I don’t need to explain to you. Thankfully, after a bit of experimentation, my dear associate Haggar was able to concoct a rather interesting cure for me. The effects not only helped ease my affliction but, as I would later discover, kept me frozen in time. The only downside was that it required specific ingredients—that’s where you come in. The cure, or as Haggar dubbed it, the Quintessence, relies on human blood extracted from the dead for its immense healing abilities. A life for a life, as they say. And just how many men do you think you killed while in that ring, Shiro?”

 

“I-I never…” Shiro trails off quietly, and for a moment as he’s recounting it all, he’s back on that tarp with two human hands that are smeared red.

 

“Perhaps _you_ never, but you weakened them well enough that they were easy to finish off. After you left, that’s where your friend here took over. He’s a hit man, and a seemingly perfect one at that. He asks no questions, he gets it all done, and he doesn’t dispose of the bodies, which leaves them available for my use. The only problem is, as ever, you. You always manage to ruin my fun, even when I tried so hard to keep you.”

 

“You took my brother from me!” Shiro lashes out through gritted teeth. He furls and unfurls his hands as if ready to strike. He also tries desperately not to let the images of Ryou flare up in his head again.

 

Zarkon clicks his tongue and shakes his head. Lotor smirks beside him.

 

“That’s neither fair nor true. I would never believe in separating you from your brother, though I guess it’s a little unorthodox. Now he’s merely an extension of you.” He says.

 

“What are you saying?” Shiro says with a crack in his voice.

 

“You really haven’t wondered what makes that arm of yours work, Shiro? You’ve never stopped to ask why it can melt steel or pierce through solid objects? Well, you’ve helped me uncover a lot of things tonight, so why don’t I do the same for you? Your arm was equal parts another experiment and a punishment. We wanted to see what it would be like to have a fabricated body part that runs on Quintessence. I must say, the results thus far have been fascinating. You don’t even need to refresh the dosage of it.”

 

Shiro feels the warm sting of bile creeping up in his throat as he strings it all together.

 

“If it runs on Quintessence, and it’s taken from…”

 

“You never did find his body afterwards, did you, Shiro? You couldn’t have.” Zarkon says with triumph in his voice.

 

A wall of tears in either eye starts to impair Shiro’s vision. He’s completely paralyzed with horror.

 

“Ryou-”

 

“-Has been with you all along. His blood is part of what helps to power your metal arm.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just gonna....show myself out....
> 
> Sorry if you wanted a more dignified end for Haggar; that bitch got laid low. Don't fuck with Lance's man. 
> 
> On the other hand, we are only hours away from the release of season 2, and I hope you all enjoy! I'm ready to get emotionally wrecked (goodness knows the brief Sheith clip they've just released has already slain me). See you all soon!


	9. The Heist, Pt. 3

Keith’s head is pounding, and the particular upsurges of pain along his jaw and on the back of his neck leave him groaning. His eyes flutter open and the faint sounds of voices come to him gradually. His entire body tenses when he hears Zarkon speaking, and he instantly remembers his current predicament.

 

When Keith begins to shift, Lotor lowers himself beside him and pokes Keith’s cheek with his knuckle.

 

“Good, you’re awake.” He purrs so that only Keith can hear him. He then roughly grabs Keith by the chin so he can get a better view of the scene at hand. Keith, in turn, hisses as Lotor purposely presses down against the bruise along Keith’s jawline.

 

Keith shudders when he sees Shiro on his hands and knees just a few yards away from him. He doesn’t look seriously injured, but his breaths sound burdensome and guttural and his head is piteously bowed like a man at the chopping block.

 

“Shiro.” Keith whispers.

 

\-----

 

“So now what?” Hunk says, still thumbing the area where his gunshot has ceased to exist.

 

Matt presses his lips together before he says, “I don’t know. Something’s up and we haven’t heard back from anyone…”

 

Lance picks up his rifle that he’d put to the wayside in favor of helping Hunk and says: “I’ll go in. Matt, stay here with Hunk.”

 

Matt makes an incredulous noise as he says, “What? Why don’t you stay out here? He’s _your_ boyfriend!”

 

“Fiancé.” Hunk corrects him.

 

“Fiancé?” Matt asks, looking quizzically at both of them. It earns him a confirmative nod from Lance.

 

“Lance, I can go with you. It’s better than me sitting here.” Hunk offers, but Lance rounds on him, pointing a forceful, thin finger toward him.

 

“No, you got hurt. Therefore, _you_ are done for the night. You’re staying put. I’m gonna go in there, I’m gonna save the day, I’m gonna give you some time to rest up, we’re all gonna head home, and then if you’re feeling like it, I’ll be getting done for the night.” Lance says.

 

“Dude, I am _right_ here.” Matt complains, twisting his features into a displeased frown.

 

Lance ignores him and leans down, pressing a chaste kiss to Hunk’s lips.

 

“I’ll be back.” He says seriously, and Hunk gives him a tired smile.

 

Lance then turns to Matt and says: “Where’d you put the serum?”

 

Matt stares at him skeptically, but he hands him the container that still has a decent contingent of the purple fluid inside.

 

“What are you planning to do with that?” Matt asks.

 

Lance winks at him before sauntering away and muttering “The best I can” over his shoulder.

 

“Vague…” Matt trails off, his look of skepticism still not faded.

 

“We all know his love for dramatics.” Hunk says, moving slightly to accommodate his back more.

 

“Whatever, man,” Matt says, “you’re the one swapping last names with him.”

 

\-----

 

 _“Pidge, are you there?”_ Lance’s voice resonates in Pidge’s earpiece as she’s running alongside Allura.

 

“Yeah, I’m here. What’s up? Is everyone okay?” Pidge huffs.

 

_“Everyone’s fine. Have you found Shiro?”_

“No, Allura and I are still looking for him.”

 

_“Allura? Wait, what?”_

“Yeah, she got sort of kidnapped but not really and…it’s a long story that I’d love to recount once we’re out of this mess.”

 

_“Alright, yeah. Fine. Just stay where you are right now.”_

Pidge halts and taps her ear to make sure she heard correctly. Allura looks at her, confounded, when she sees that Pidge has stopped.

 

“Why? We have to get Shiro!”

 

_“I know that, but I have a plan.”_

“And that plan involves me doing nothing while Shiro might be getting hurt?”

 

_“The plan involves you taking the sass on a long walk and moving when I tell you to. I’ve got an aerial on the building and I’m trying to find where they’ve got him.”_

Pidge sighs in frustration and says, “Where are you right now?”

 

_“I’m still outside the warehouse, but I’m on the second story. I’ve been circling it and so far, nothing, but—wait! Pidge, wait! I see him.”_

“Is he alive? Lance, _is he alive_?” Pidge asks with mounting desperation. Allura cups a hand over her mouth.

 

_“He’s on his knees, but he’s moving. There’s someone else lying on the floor, and a sort of good-looking guy but probably homicidal, and of course Zarkon’s ugly mug.”_

“Thanks for the vital information, but what exactly is your plan? When do we go in for him?” Pidge says, giving Allura a thumbs up to alleviate her worry.

 

_“I’ll give you the O.K.”_

“What if they strike first?”

 

_“I’ve got it all under control. Once I have a clear shot, I’m taking it. If they try anything before then, I’ll stop them.”_

“Lance…”

 

_“Pidge, trust me on this.”_

“Fine. Let us know.”

 

\-----

 

Shiro doesn’t remember lowering himself to the floor, and only the sensation of his legs trembling against the stiff concrete brings his vision back into focus. Out of the tail of his eye, he sees his metal arm lighting up ever so slightly. It makes him feel like he’s going to empty the contents of his stomach right here and now.

 

 _“Ryou, this could change our whole lives…”_ Shiro replays his words in his head. He brings his hands up to cover his ears and stifle it, but at the touch of metal to the skin of his ear, he immediately flinches and removes his hands. He allows the tears building up in his eyes to slip down his face.

 

“You’re formidable, Shiro, but you make things too easy for me. I can take you down without even touching you.” Zarkon says as he takes in the sight of Shiro squirming.

 

Keith tries to move as Lotor holds him up and forces him to watch.

 

“Shiro, get out of here! Run!” Keith cries, but is instantly hushed by the muzzle of Lotor’s gun being shoved into his mouth. Keith chokes from the mere force of the action as well as the lack of adjustment to the metallic taste. Lotor pumps the tip of the gun in and out of the entrance of Keith’s mouth in a lewd and grating way, and Keith’s mouth and the gun are becoming slick with saliva. Lotor pulls Keith up a bit by drawing his free hand through his hair and then presses his nose into the crook of Keith’s neck to counterbalance his power play. As ever, even when he’s threatening to kill Keith, he wants to showcase him.

 

Across the room, Shiro lifts his head and gazes at Keith with glassy, wet eyes. Then something awakens in Shiro. His eyes widen as he hones in Keith.

 

Zarkon takes his own gun out of his pocket, regarding it tamely. He says: “There isn’t much that happens around here without my knowing. I can’t say I’m surprised at the choice on the Commissioner’s daughter’s part in picking you to try to take down my empire. I was a bit disappointed that Keith couldn’t pass my test—I figured if he _really_ wanted to kill the girl as I’d asked, he’d get creative—but it seems that he prioritizes you…”

 

Zarkon’s eyes sideline to Keith, who is being held in place by Lotor with one hand drifting through Keith’s hair and the other curled around the gun still placed between Keith’s lips. Shiro watches him form the decision before it even happens; he sees Zarkon’s finger trip toward the trigger. Zarkon fires the shot before the ‘ _No’_ can even rip from Shiro’s throat.

 

\-----

 

Lance screws the top of the container off and sets it aside as he pops open his gun and discards all of the unused bullets into his open palm. He’s got a theory to test and not much time to do it.

 

He grabs the container, tips it, and pours the glowing purple liquid onto the bullets in his hand. He then shimmies them around, making sure they’re coated, the excess liquid dribbling out between the cracks in his fingers. Ignoring the fact that the extra serum dissolves into his hand, once he feels the bullets are coated well enough, he starts loading them back into his gun.

 

This is the best option he can come up with: kill an immortal with their own medicine. An eye for an eye; one era for the next. Zarkon’s more than earned it for his years of terror, for using Shiro, for hurting Hunk…

 

The pop of a gunshot inside the warehouse makes Lance jump, and his heart rams against his ribcage as he scrambles up toward the window to see what happened. His eyes dart to Shiro, who’s not only unharmed, but seems to be gathering himself up. No, the shot was aimed at the person being held in place by the light-haired individual, and a trickle of blood is stemming out from his leg.

 

_“Lance, what happened? Are we too late?”_

Lance touches his earpiece and says, “No, they didn’t get him. They shot the other guy, but it doesn’t look fatal.”

 

_“They shot Keith?”_

 

“Who in the hell is Keith?”

 

_“Okay, enough. We’re going in there. You said you’d handle this!”_

“I was getting ready! But I could use the distraction. Count to thirty and go in.”

 

Lance closes one eye and takes his aim. Time to end this.

 

\-----

 

Keith whimpers around the gunmetal in his mouth. The pain in his leg is lapping at him in waves, first nothing and then all at once. By the time he feels like he can manage through it, Lotor digs a finger into his bullet wound, and he’s all but shrieking. His entire body spasms in response.

 

Shiro brings himself to his feet. Even as he wills his arm to completely power on, he’s no longer considering his own mental strife; the only thing he mulls over is who gets to die by his hand first. All he’s ever been is whatever Zarkon’s fashioned him into; maybe he was never meant to be a man at all, maybe he’s meant to be a machine or a wolf or some abandoned demigod with one foot in each door of that which is human and that which surpasses it. Either way, Zarkon deserves to reap the benefits of all his hard work. Shiro couldn’t possibly deny him that, not after all Zarkon’s done for him.

 

Zarkon cocks an eyebrow when he sees Shiro’s rigid stance. He says, “Oh, Shiro, do you really want to try your luck at playing hero again? I should think you know how this ends.”

 

Shiro lifts his head so he can glare darkly at Zarkon.

 

“This ends the way it started: together.” Shiro says and he dashes forward, readying his metal arm. He doesn’t have to like its origins, but he thinks quickly about how very satisfied Ryou might be at the prospect of maiming Zarkon alongside him.

 

Shiro lunges at Zarkon and clamps his metal hand around Zarkon’s neck. He almost wants to fault himself for the whole history repeating itself archetype, but last time he didn’t have a bionic arm and they didn’t have Keith. Apparently Zarkon finds the humor in the situation too, as he lets out an amused, hitched laugh. It only makes Shiro tighten his grip.

 

Lotor, blindsided by Shiro’s rashness, takes a second or two to register what’s happened. He yanks the gun out of Keith’s mouth and points it at Shiro’s back, but the sound of glass shattering zips through the room, and suddenly Lotor’s hand has been shot and he’s bleeding profusely. He yelps in pain and his hold on Keith slacks, his gun colliding to the floor in the process. Keith grunts as he scrambles away from Lotor, dragging himself rather pitifully with his wounded leg.

 

“Shiro!” Keith shouts again in a scraping tone as he watches Zarkon and Shiro struggling with one another.

 

“Your boy is…pleading for you, and you…can’t help him. I guess you’re…used to that, though.” Zarkon bites out slowly as he and Shiro clash with one another. Zarkon tries to swing at Shiro with his free arm, almost striking Shiro in the temple with his gun, but Shiro ducks and chokes him as hard as he can. He begs for the power in his metal hand; he begs Ryou. He has to end this.

 

Lotor, who clutches his wounded hand in the other, makes to reach for his own gun where he dropped it, but then a weight descends on him, brisk and vigorous, and he unceremoniously plummets beneath it.

 

Pidge, for good measure, stands as firmly as she can against the knobs of Lotor’s back. She digs a heel into him as she says, “Now, Allura!”

 

Allura easily picks up the gun, clicks the safety off, and peers stoically into Lotor’s cruel eyes. Lotor gives her a jagged, leering smile as she shoots him. Then, he goes completely still.

 

At the sound of the upheaval beside them, both Shiro and Zarkon freeze. Zarkon’s throat constricts beneath Shiro’s grip when he notices the body of his son.

 

“Allura? Pidge?” Shiro says breathlessly. Zarkon’s huge forearm collides with Shiro’s shoulders and knocks him back as he charges toward Pidge and Allura.

 

Shiro wobbles from the impact, but he forces himself to move. He clenches his bionic hand into a fist, trying to steady his thoughts and direct all of his energy into what he does next.

 

_One._

_Ryou is dead._

_Two._

_There’s no changing that._

_Three._

_But you aren’t dead, and they need you._

_Four._

_Fight._

 

Before Zarkon can descend upon them, another gunshot bursts through the room as Shiro simultaneously draws his fist forward and impales Zarkon in the back. Blood is absolutely deluging from Zarkon, and as he falls, Shiro is brought to his knees with him, still connected by his fist. When Shiro pulls his arm back, he lets Zarkon drop like a gutted fish.

 

Red is completely besmirching Shiro’s metal arm, interspersed with the glowing purple hue, and for once the combination doesn’t feel indecent. Shiro is panting as he hungrily watches his enemy bleeding, but he doesn’t keep it up for long. He already strays too close to the path of turning into Zarkon one day, and truly venerating the sight of his enemy dying sounds too Zarkon-like. He does, however, note the bullet hole in the side of Zarkon’s head and wonders to himself who got him first.

 

“Shiro! Are you alright?” Allura tosses Lotor’s gun aside and runs over to Shiro, placing her hand on his shoulder in case he requires guidance.

 

Shiro doesn’t have much to say, so he hopes a nod will suffice. Allura walks alongside him over to where Pidge has Keith propped up in her arms. He’s ashen and his leg is still oozing, but he manages a small smile when he sees Shiro.

 

Shiro can’t bring himself to say anything to Keith either in that moment, because he isn’t quite sure where to begin. Nothing between an apology, a genuine confession of his love for him, or even a simple hello seems fitting. Instead, Shiro leans down and scoops Keith up. Keith sighs, still reeling from the pain in his leg, and presses his head against Shiro’s chest.

 

“Come on, let’s get out of here.” Shiro says plainly as he turns to Allura and Pidge. They follow him as he works his way to the main set of doors, letting the bodies stay and grow cold as they will.

 

\-----

 

Lance sits next to Hunk, their hands laced together. Matt stands opposite them as they collectively wait for the others. When the doors open, Pidge flings herself into her brother’s arms and Matt accepts her wholeheartedly, sighing with relief. Lance told him and Hunk that everyone inside was okay, but the physical reassurance of holding his sister is a bonus.

 

Allura comes next, holding open the door for Shiro as he cradles Keith in his arms. As Shiro passes Lance on the ground, he nods at him and says, “good shooting”. He then keeps moving past the other Paladins, rubbing soothing circles into Keith’s hair as he does so.

 

“Wait, who’s that?” Hunk asks, gesturing toward Keith.

 

“Not the time.” Pidge interjects before anyone can answer.

 

“Did you destroy the serum?” Allura asks, looking between the remaining Paladins.

 

Matt pats his sister’s back before answering: “No, because I think it could be beneficial. Sure, we don’t know where it comes from, but there’s a universal antidote in the mixture there somewhere. People are dying everywhere from blood disease in Altea—why not try to use it to find a cure?”

 

Lance perks up at Matt’s suggestion and says, “Do you think it could help my mom?”

 

Matt looks to Allura and says: “I think it could help a lot of people, if you’re willing. I know Zarkon’s methods are questionable, but we might be able to put his ruthlessness to some good use.”

 

Allura purses her lips thoughtfully and says, “I’ll consider it. I’m not sure where the Councilman’s deal leaves me in dealing with evidence, but perhaps my father will know what to do.”

 

The second she turns her back, however, Matt taps Lance on the shoulder and slips him a small purple phial. Lance looks up at him, baffled, and Matt just winks before turning his head away.

 

“Okay, but can someone explain to me who that guy is that Shiro’s walking away with?” Hunk says.

 

“That’s Keith.” Pidge says.

 

“Who in the hell _is_ he, though?” Lance says.

 

\-----

 

Once they have considerable distance from everyone else, Shiro looks down at Keith and says: “Don’t worry, I’m going to get you some help.”

 

Keith’s head is swimming from the combination of blood loss and of being held by Shiro. There are so many things he wants to say, but he can’t verbalize any of them. That’s never been his strong suit.

 

“Shiro…” is all Keith says, and weakly at that.

 

“I’d say that from here, once I get you fixed up,” Shiro says with a wide smile, “you have two choices: you can leave with me or you can leave alone.”

 

Keith smiles in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know about all of you, but season 2 left me dead in a ditch. Here I am writing pining Shiro and the show itself supplies us with pining Keith (not to mention deep depictions of how much Keith and Shiro mean to one another). Doesn't get much better than that, my lovelies. 
> 
> I apologize for how lengthy this chapter was, but I had a hell of a lot left to do. Writing it almost killed me (and what do you know, it DID kill the bad guys). This is the second to last bit and honestly the next chapter should be done fairly soon because it'll be short. See you then!


	10. Going Forward

Lance raises a fist to knock on the door, but he hesitates, looking back questionably at Hunk.

 

Hunk flicks a hand at him and says: “Go ahead, I’ll be out here. You two need some time together.”

 

Lance nods, the lump in his throat seeming to bob along with the motion of his head. He lightly raps on the wooden door.

 

“Yes?” His mother’s voice sounds from inside. Lance turns the knob and walks in.

 

Lance’s mother, in all fairness, looks drained, though he’s seen her much worse. The last time he visited, she could hardly lift her head up and her skin looked like the waxen veneer of a candle. Now, however, she sits right up in bed upon seeing him, her chin-length chestnut hair, the same color as his, swishing with the sudden movement.

 

“Lance!” She exclaims as he leans over and brings her into an embrace. He’s careful not to hold her too tightly, though he wishes he could give her a squeeze to affirm how badly he’s missed her.

 

She places a cold hand against his cheek when Lance pulls back and sits on the bed beside her.

 

“Hey, Mom.” He says and he unsuccessfully tries to cover up the tears in his tone.

 

“I’ve missed you so much. How are you?” She asks, and Lance leans into the hand against his face.

 

“Doesn’t matter. All that matters is how you’re doing. I’ve got your medicine for you.” Lance replies as he unwraps a length of gauze and produces a syringe.

 

His mother doesn’t press the matter and she obediently stretches her arm out toward him.

 

“There’s something you’re keeping from me.” She says coyly, beaming at him.

 

Lance laughs and says, “I am, that’s true. It’s why I need you to start feeling better as soon as possible.”

 

Before she can figure out why he’s being cryptic, he pinches the skin of her arm with the syringe, not taking his eyes off of her as he says:

 

“We’ve got a wedding to plan.”

 

\-----

 

Matt looks up when Pidge drops an avalanche of papers on the couch next to him.

 

“That the amount of paperwork it requires to get millions of dollars?” Matt asks.

 

Pidge shakes her head and says, “No.”

 

“Then why did you say you were going to see the Councilman with Allura?” He says.

 

Pidge pretends to pick at a fingernail as she says, “I don’t remember saying I was going _with_ Allura.”

 

Matt raises a brow and says, “when I asked you why you were leaving, you said Allura was going to see the Councilman and you had to be there— _oh_.”

 

Pidge nods and says, “I never said she knew I was going with her or, in this case, following her.”

 

Matt chuckles and says: “Alright, then why did you go?”

 

“So I could find out where his office is and pick the lock.”

 

Matt grabs a handful of papers and starts ruffling through them.

 

“Pidge, are these…”

 

“I stole all the cases he had on file about Shiro and the Paladins. It’s not like we made a deal with the Councilman.” Pidge explains with a shrug.

 

Matt simply bursts into laughter.

 

\-----

 

Keith splays his hands across Shiro’s bare chest, charting the various points between his scars like he so often does. Shiro, in turn, spreads his legs open a bit further to integrate Keith’s small form. He reaches underneath the sheets to caress the knee of Keith’s wounded leg, not daring to slink downward.

 

“How is it?” He says, and Keith just lays his head down against Shiro’s chest and nods.

 

“It’s alright. Healing about as well as it can.”

 

Shiro doesn’t say more, but presses a kiss into Keith’s dark locks. They stay quiet for a short while before Keith speaks up again.

 

“Do you think they’ll ever like me?”

 

Shiro looks at him seriously as Keith lifts his head to gauge his reaction.

 

“They’ll come around soon. They have a hard time trusting people who have connections to the Galra, but you’re a different case. Just give it time.” Shiro says.

 

Keith props himself up on his elbows against Shiro, who leans back onto the headboard to give him more room. A note of uneasiness settles in Keith’s violet eyes.

 

“About that…Shiro, I’m sorry. I had no idea what they were doing with the bodies.”

 

Shiro curls and uncurls his metal hand into a fist twice. Of course he’s thought about it in the interim period since that night, but he finds lately that he doesn’t have as many reservations now that all the unanswered issues have been laid to rest with Zarkon. Ryou is gone, and Shiro has been more or less forced to carry his spirit for the rest of his life, but as always, he can adapt. Fighting has always been his talent, and he doesn’t intend to stop. This life is tough, this city is tough, the cold sweats and flashbacks are tough, but despite believing otherwise, Shiro has never once had to face it alone. That in and of itself is a comfort and a means of going forward.

 

“Don’t be sorry,” Shiro says, hooking his metal thumb under Keith’s chin and stroking it lightly, “it’s part of me. Same as you.”

 

Keith turns pink at that, and shies away as he says, “So does that mean you want me to wear your ring?”

 

“Depends, do you mean that literally or figuratively?” Shiro shoots back.

 

Keith smiles, drawing shapes onto Shiro’s flesh arm with his pointer finger and says:

 

“Would your answer change either way?”

 

“No.” Shiro admits.

 

Keith’s expression hardens somewhat when he looks to Shiro again, and Shiro’s poised to ask what’s on his mind when Keith says:

 

“I love you.”

 

Shiro’s breath catches in his throat. He tries not to show the pure somersaults his heart is performing in the look he gives Keith, but he likely fails. He does, however, find himself smirking as he says:

 

“So now you’re breaking your promise?”

 

Keith hoists himself up so that he can hover an inch or two apart from Shiro’s lips, staring at them hungrily as he says, “I never made you any promise.” He kisses Shiro fully and somewhat helplessly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it! I haven't written a multi-chapter fic in years and for the most part, this turned out nothing like what I originally intended, but I'm pleased with the subtle changes I made. Thank you so much to those of you who followed this story with every update, for those of you who have left such kind comments and kudos, and for those of you who just jumped right in and read it all at once! Your continued support really helped me see this through.


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